


Secrets Out

by Panlock



Series: Destiny Undetermined [4]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Character Death, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, Magic Revealed, Male Slash, Necromancy, Politics, Secret Identity, cursing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2018-10-25 14:07:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 36,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10765803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Panlock/pseuds/Panlock
Summary: Final work in Destiny Undetermined series. Merlin returns to Sideria and makes one last attempt to end the war on magic peacefully. Arthur infiltrates Sideria with Uther's plan but his heart is tested as he is asked to do the unthinkable. Morgana sets forth a plan to kill her enemies and take Camelot's throne. In the end, none of them have any secrets left and alliances are broken and remade.





	1. Authors Note

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Authors Note

The previous works in this series loosely followed canon and I referenced the episode guides. This work is all original nonsense from my creativity. 

I strongly recommend reading _We Make it Up as We Go Along,_ which takes place right before the events in  _Secrets Out._ There are two other pre-series sections,  _Forefathers and Fate Makers_ and  _Milestones._ These two works are shorter than the rest of the installments and provide some context to other things going on within this world, but are not TOTALLY essentially. I would recommend reading _Forefathers and Fate Makers,_ at least.  _Milestones_ just includes snap-shots of Merlin and Arthur growing up. 

If you really want to skip the previous works here is a quick summary so far: Merlin was born a Prince in Sidera. He came to Camelot as Arthur's manservant thinking it was his destiny to end the war on magic by helping him. Most of the major plot points from canon (up to Gwaines arrival) still happen, but Merlin has more help from Archimedes than Gaius. At the end of _We Make It Up as We Go Along,_ Merlin is abruptly taken back to Sidera after a fight with Arthur and Morgana is promised to the Siderian Prince as a fake peace offering.  

The previous works also had softer ratings, however this work is rated **EXPLICIT**. Please read the tags/warnings for the overall fic and individual chapters. Please remember that this is a M/M slash fic and I like writing explicit/graphic scenes. K? K. 

Some things I made up…

 **Prince Ambrosius:** This is covered in _Forefathers and Fate Makers,_ but if you didn't read it Merlin's real name is Prince Ambrosius Myrddin, but Hunith calls him Merlin for short. I got this name from Geoffrey of Monmouth's (who is a real person) composite of Merlin based on two other historical characters, Myrddin Wyllt and Aurelius Ambrosius. So, I combined the two and made Merlin's official given name Ambrosius Myrddin. 

 **Sidera:** Sidera is Balinor’s kingdom. I referenced a [map](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1037453/chapters/2069264) made by [versaphile](http://archiveofourown.org/users/versaphile) (isn’t that cool? everyone go give this person kudos) and placed Sidera in the region of Rheged. I chose to place Sidera here for a few reasons. Number one, Rheged isn’t mentioned like, at all in the television show so it doesn’t really conflict with canon. Secondly, I wanted Sidera to be mountainous and it appears, from this map, that Rheged has mountains in the south. Lastly, Sidera had to be a good distance from Camelot. I make mention of other kingdoms on this map so it might be helpful to reference it as you read.

 **Siderian riders:** Riders are the equivalent of knights in Sidera. Both magical and non-magical persons can be riders, as well as women. Riders follow a similar code as knights. The main difference between Camelot’s Knights and Siderian Riders are the knights are generally better swordsmen and the riders are known for being fast horseback riders. Additionally there are no status requirements to become a rider. They are called riders because they are bonded through magic with the horse they ride, even if the rider doesn’t possess magic.

 **Dragons Keep and High Tower:** Dragons Keep is the fortress capitol built into the side of a massive mountain located in the southwest region of Sidera. The entire mountain side has been carved with magic into a fortress, Dragons Keep. The very top of Dragons Keep is High Tower. High Tower is where Balinor and the royal family live and it’s situated above the clouds. Some commoners live or work in Dragons Keep; it’s similar to the Citadel in Camelot. Dragons live in the unaltered half of the mountain behind Dragons Keep and there are caves that connect the two. Dragons come and go as they please though a few dragons, such as Archimedes and Duracca, leave less often than other more solitary dragons such as Kilgharrah. I googled some images of castles built into mountains and the closet thing I could find to what I had in mind was this: [Dragons Keep](http://static.zerochan.net/Pixiv.Fantasia%3A.New.World.full.1559771.jpg)

 **Dragons:** The relationship the dragons have with the Dragonlord’s in this story varies depending on the dragon. Dragons are not owned by the Dragonlord’s and most of them do their own thing, only showing up when called or when something special happens. The first dragon a Dragonlord hatches, however, will be connected to the Queen and the first born son and sticks around until both pass away. Duracca is the first dragon that Balinor’s father hatched and is like a brother to Balinor. Archimedes is the first dragon Balinor hatched and is protective of Hunith and very close to Merlin. He is also obviously my spin on Archimedes the owl from _The Sword and the Stone_ (1963) who was Merlin’s companion.

 **Battle of High Claw:** In the earliest ages of Albion, when magic was still new, there were twelve Dragonlord families and eventually they all went to war with one another. This war is referred to as the Battle of High Claw because the dragons took sides and fought one another. Balinor’s line won the battle and now his line is the last Dragonlord clan.

 **Dragonlord betrothal necklaces:** Necklaces made out of the enchanted shell of dragon eggs. They resemble opals and come in different colors, generally the same color as the dragon that hatched from the egg. They take the place of both engagement/wedding rings and crowns for the brides of Dragonlord’s. The necklaces are wide and flat and act like armor. They are indestructible and resistant to magical attacks. It is through wearing the eggshell necklace during pregnancy that creates the bond that the dragons have with the first born son. As long as a Queen wears the betrothal necklace the dragons respect her similarly to the Dragonlord, though they are not commanded by her. I imagined the shape/design of the necklaces’ to look a bit like [this](http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pf4yTu_hbv8/VArI7nZJxAI/AAAAAAAAawQ/wIPFj58tvKM/s1600/diamond%2Bnecklace5.png)because they’re essentially armor. I also imagined Hunith’s necklace to look like [orange opal](https://static.auctionmate.io/oa/uploads/images/220000-224999/221781/52b7905c4476d.jpg) and Mapri’s necklace would look like [black opal](https://www.gemselect.com/photos/black-opal/black-opal-gem-330206a.jpg) in color. 


	2. Home Again

Chapter One: HOME AGAIN

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: Lots of talking, tying up some lose ends

Words: 3415

XiiX

_Hightower within Sidera_

             Merlin felt strange standing in his old, familiar room. It was just as he had left it. Dozens of books, some magical and others not, filled up the walls of his common room. Where Arthur’s bedchamber included a large table and hearth, Merlin’s bedchamber was separated into a small sleeping area with nothing but a bed and a larger more open common area. The wider space came in handy when one’s family raised dragons in their halls.

            The room was pleasantly warm, despite the altitude, like it always was. It was enchanted by Merlin’s own magic. No fire was needed and he frequently kept the windows open so Art could come and go. The flooring was grey stone, as was the walls and ceiling but there was color everywhere. Rugs on the ground, tapestries on the walls, and bizarre artifacts from the Dragonlord history littered the place. It still somewhat resembled the room of a teen, and Merlin’s writing desk was as disheveled as the day he left it. This should feel like coming home, but instead he felt weird inside.

            “Merlin,” Hunith asked softly from the doorway. The warlock hadn’t even wondered into the sleeping area. He was stuck in the middle of his common room. “Honey, what’s wrong? You haven’t even changed.” She observed with a frown. Her son was still wearing the pathetic rags he’d been surviving in for the past three years.

            “Oh,” he looked down at his clothing. He really didn’t feel like changing, even though his father expected him within the hour. Apparently, whatever plans Balinor had arranged were going into effect quickly. “I suppose it just feels strange to be back, after all this time.”

            The Queen’s frown only sunk lower. “What did they do to you?” She asked, misunderstanding her son’s heart ache entirely.

            “No, nothing, they were—” he stopped himself, unable to completely explain the connections he formed over the past few years. How could his family understand? As far as they were concerned Merlin was treated like a second-class citizen, humiliated by the son of their worst enemy.

            The queen winced and cupped her taller son’s cheek. “I’m so happy to have you home…but I want you to be happy. What is it? You can tell me.” She pleaded, wanting to understand more than anything.

            “I miss them.” _Him._ “I know everyone thinks I should hate them, but I don’t.” Merlin knew he was being vague, but his mother usually understood him. “Most of the people in Camelot are brainwashed into thinking sorcery is evil and they’re just scared. I kept thinking, if I could just show them…but I guess I ran out of time.”

            “You feel like you’ve already failed, don’t you?” She asked gently. Whereas Mapri had a disposition like steel, Hunith has always been gentle. It was one of the reasons Balinor fell in love with her.

            “But I have. Uther plans to go to war with us. He might already have the Eananah crystal. I’ll never be with Arthur again; I might even have to face them on the battle field—” He was becoming lighted headed before he realized his breathing was ragged.

            “Merlin, please.” His mother soothed. “Do you have no faith in your father? He will ensure this does not end in war. Trust us, you’re not alone anymore.” With that she leaned up on her toes and gathered her first born up in her arms. If Merlin cried into her shoulder she pretended not to notice.

XiiX

            Less than an hour later Merlin walked through the familiar halls of his family’s castle. It was vastly different from Camelot’s fortress, which had layers of polished stone and refined fixtures. Dragons Keep was intentionally left rough and natural. The corridors were made of exposed cave wall and the windows, as big as they were, were not cut uniformly throughout. Some parts of the lower castle were drafty, like one would expect an actual cave system to be, and the center of the castle had very little natural light because it was cut so far into the mountain. Enchanted candles floated around these chambers and random fires burned throughout the fortress providing light and warmth.

            It felt good to be in the heart of the cavernous castle. Merlin could smell mountain air and feel the buzz of magic around him. Now dressed in the clothes he had left behind Merlin realized he never felt less like a prince in his life. He wore chocolate brown breeches, thick and heavy boots fit for scaling mountains, and a blue tunic that was similar in color to what he wore in Camelot, but made of much finer materials. Over the tunic, he wore the only item of clothing that would identify him as a member of Balinor’s lineage. The children of Dragonlords do not wear crowns or jewels. Family members do, however, adorn a long, deep copper jacket with a black dragon embroidered in the center. The fabric is made with dragon’s skin left over from their shedding each year. Mapri began making Merlin’s when Hunith got pregnant. It was enchanted to grow with Merlin, so that he would only need one. It was well insulated and fire proof with long sleeves and a high collar. If fit snuggly, more like a leather dress coat. Even though everything else about his return felt bizarre, Merlin felt at home in his house robe.

            Entering his father’s council room was like stepping into the past, though. The council room was situated far back in the mountain. In fact, any farther back than the council room one would only find raw cave networks and there were several gaping dark holes leading back into the unaltered half of the mountain behind Balinor’s simple throne. The dragons used these entranceways to come and go. The largest entry way was being filled by Kilgharrah, currently.

            “The Prince returns,” the Great Dragon chuckled loudly as Merlin passed by the holding cells. They were nothing more than dark holes in the ground, not unlike a well, but with heavy iron bars across the top. They were used to hold warlocks who had to come before the Dragonlord for judgment and the pits cut a sorcerer off from their magic. Merlin remembers hearing men scream from the bottom of those waterless wells as a child—being severed from magic for too long could make a sorcerer go mad.

             Merlin looked to his father first, who looked immensely happy to see his son. Around the room, Merlin recognized his father’s council. Antle, the Druid representative, his grandmother Mapri, his father’s dragon Durraca, and now his older cousin Rhodor was present. However, there were two that Merlin was not expecting to see: Morgause and Vivienne.

             “What is she doing here?” Merlin halted mid stride and glared at Morgause. The last time they crossed paths they tried to kill one another.

             “You’re not the only one with skin in the game,” the blond-haired warrior snapped and placed a protective hand on her mother’s shoulders. Vivienne looked up at the prince with a flat expression on her face. Even in her older years she was still a beauty. Her black hair never lost its luster and she retained all traits of regality and dignity through the years. It was around her mouth and in her eyes where all her sadness had settled. In all the time he’s known the lady, Merlin rarely saw her smile.

             “Please,” Vivienne spoke up in a soft voice. “It’s time to bring my daughter home. I dream of her every night and she’s scared.”

              Merlin deflated. He would never forgive Morgause for the stunt she pulled by evoking Ygraine’s spirit, but he could not hate Vivienne. She longed for her daughter that was surrounded by enemies. He nodded once to Vivienne and finished the short walk to the table. There was an open seat available to Balinor’s right, left for Merlin.

              “I’m sorry to bring you home so abruptly,” the Dragonlord said to his right once everyone was seated. “Uther finally accepted my offer and we haven’t much time to make the arrangements.”

              Merlin’s brow furrowed immediately. “What offer?”

              “Let me explain from the beginning.” Balinor gave his son a tight smile. “We have been working on a way to retrieve Morgana from Camelot for some time. We can’t just snatch her from Uther. She still doesn’t know who to trust and Uther has been putting thoughts in her head her whole life; she might think we’re all a part of an elaborate spell or some other trickery. Also, if we took her from Uther he might lose all reason and attack us outright.”

              Merlin nodded. So far this made sense. He isn’t surprised that they had been working on a way to avoid Morgana’s involvement—to get her somewhere safe so that she couldn’t be used as a hostage by Uther.

             “We had to find a way to either convince her to come to us or to get Uther to bring her here.” Balinor continued. “When you told me Uther was looking for the Eananah crystal we realized that, if Uther had any chance of his plan succeeding, he would need to travel here, to Sidera. The crystal is useless unless he can get into the castle and cave. Uther has no chance of entering this fortress without an invitation, and he knows this. The same day you informed me that Uther had discovered the Eananah crystal I sent him a declaration of peace, offering a marriage alliance between you and Morgana as proof of my sincerity. He did not give me an answer for many months. I assumed Uther would only accept if and when he actually had the crystal in his possession, which meant as long as he didn’t accept he did not have it. Two nights ago, a royal currier arrived with Uther’s official seal. He has accepted the terms of our peace treaty and will send Morgana, along with a royal party, to Sidera so that you may marry her.”

            The prince gulped. He would have to face Morgana again, after all the years as Arthurs servant, after all the lies, after Mordred. After everything they had been through he would have to marry her.

           “Now, we all suspect this is a trap.” Balinor continued. “One of the members of her party will surely have the crystal and they will attempt to take it to the caves. I don’t think I need to say that it is absolutely imperative that we do not allow this to happen, but we also cannot let them know we are on to them until we have the crystal. If they flee with Morgana or the crystal before we can ensure both, this is all for naught.”

            Merlin was gripping the table, eyes unfocused, while his thoughts raced to catch up with him. “Do you expect Uther will travel here himself. Morgana is like a daughter to him. He might want to be at her…our wedding.”

            “That coward dares not walk into the heart of Dragons Keep,” Kilgharrah snarled. “He fears the dragons most of all, though I cannot say I blame him. I would cradle him in my teeth for days before I let him die.”

            “That’s enough of your bloodlust,” the Dragonlord barked.

            Meanwhile Morgause smirked at the dragon, as if they shared the same thought.

            Balinor continued, “I doubt Uther will be here himself. Even if he thinks he’s the one pulling the strings, I don’t think he would leave his kingdom unprotected. My guess is he will wait back in Camelot, rallying his forces and waiting for the signal that the plan has succeeded. It is likely that this ‘royal party’ will consist most of knights dressed to look like servants and court scribes. He will send in a small group of his best fighters to take us on from inside.”

            “Oh?” His voice shook.  

            “It’s likely _Arthur_ will be with them,” Morgause sneered. She knew probably better than anyone else at this table how deep Merlin’s affections ran. She probably guessed it before Merlin did.

            “But, they’ll all recognize me.” The prince pointed out, proud of himself for being able to change the subject if even for just a second. If he couldn’t stomach the idea of facing Morgana, how could he hope to see Arthur again—and as a warlock, as the Siderian prince. This was all wrong.

         This time it was Antle who spoke up. “A glamour over your head will suffice. Mapri and I will cast it so that you will not have to focus your intent to maintain it, but we’ll have to refresh it each day. To buy us time we have also told them that Dragonlords hold a three-day marriage festival leading up to the vows on the third night. This will give us time to locate the crystal and convince Morgana that we mean her no harm.”

          Despite everything even Merlin smiled at that. This was the kind thing Uther would expect from magical folk. They could use his prejudices and misconceptions against them and maybe… maybe he could use that time to show Arthur the truth.

          Rhodor followed up next. “We already have a team of riders that will be assigned to keep an eye on the royal party, but we will count on your help to identify which ones are actually servants and which are knights in disguise.” If Rhodor was surprised to find out his feeble and magic-less cousin was actually Emrys he didn’t show it now.

          “No offense to our riders, but Camelot bests us in swordsmanship.” Merlin said apologetically and Morgause scoffed somewhere off to the side.

           Rhodor didn’t seem offended or worried, though. “We might surprise you, cousin. Things have changed since you’ve left. I’ve got three new swordsmen, two of which have served with Camelot’s knights before. They can give the red cloaks a run for their money, I’m sure of it.”

 _I bet they can,_ Merlin thought dryly. “What are their names?”

            “Percival, Gwaine, and Lancelot. They’re the finest swordsmen I’ve seen this side of Deira.” Rhodor said proudly. “They’re all also committed to not letting things get bloody, which is really why I selected them for the job. We haven’t forgotten the true purpose of Emrys; we have to end this without bloodshed, or the bloodshed will never end. ”

            “You don’t know how happy that makes me,” Merlin laughed nervously. He was still sick with dread, but now there was the smallest kernel of hope buried within his gut. Merlin looked over to his father and smiled. Balinor clapped him on the back and Merlin thought that maybe they could make this work.

XiiX

_Back in Camelot_

           Arthur paced his room as if he were trying to carve a track in the flooring. He had been at it for at least 20 minutes, after he realized he couldn’t find Merlin anywhere. The prince had started his search with Gaius. The physician had seemed only mildly concerned that Merlin was missing, like maybe he knew that the servant had left. Arthur assumed if Merlin would leave Camelot, he would at least tell Gaius. However, the old man didn’t volunteer any information. Gaius did, however, give the prince a stern, questioning look complete with a raised chin. Apparently, that’s all it took these days to make Arthur spills his guts on the floor.

           Arthur told Gaius all about their argument, about how he told Merlin to _go_. He left the physicians rooms feeling like he had lost his heart. Running into Guinevere was just unfortunate.

           They met outside the physician’s room as he was leaving and she was about to enter. It was awkward and it was clear she did not want to see him. Gwen had always been transparent, incapable of hiding her true feelings. Arthur saw her and knew that she knew about Emily. Gwen glared up at him, daring him to say _something_ and a dull ache ran through him briefly _._ Is that all she was to him, a splinter compared to the impalement Merlin left behind?

           Arthur thought about what to say to make things right with Gwen. _Sorry_  or _this isn’t what I wanted for either of us_. There was a time he would have thrown himself on to the ground and begged Gwen to believe that he wanted nothing to do with this engagement. Instead, all Arthur can hear is Merlin accuse him of being a coward. He can feel Merlin’s absence large and full and loud in his chest; Arthur left Gwen in the hall with little more than a head nod.

           Before he got to the knights, panic had frozen Arthurs veins. Leon must have been able to see it in the way he walked, clenched his teeth, and darted his eyes because the first knight was reaching forward to catch him by the shoulder, mouth full of worry. “Sire, what is it?”

           Arthur is so far gone at this point he doesn’t even mind the hand on his shoulder, doesn’t feel it. Instead he looks around the training field for a blue neckerchief. “Have you seen Merlin?” He asked, not looking at Leon. His vision was blurry. He didn’t even register Leon’s response, because it wasn’t what he needed to hear.

           Next, he went to the stables and accosts most of the stable hands the same way. Finally, he tries the Citadel. Arthur questioned every vender and shop between here and the city gates. They all know Merlin; everyone knows the Prince’s manservant. No one has seen him.

          The best he gathers is Merlin was last seen yesterday without a travel bag or other possessions. He looked a bit sad, head down, and he was headed out toward the training fields. It was late morning, during the time Arthur was in his meeting with Uther, Horvath, and Kay.  

           Arthur hadn’t seen him since their argument yesterday morning. He should have looked for him sooner. He had wanted to, he could admit that now. The meeting with his father had left him feeling flayed and then Uther asked the impossible—it was Arthur’s duty to inform Morgana that she would be married off to the Siderian Prince as their Trojan Horse. It felt wrong and if Merlin’s absence was a knife in his heart, telling Morgana that in one month she would be used to kill an entire country of people surely twisted it.

           Last night, stumbling into his cool, dark chambers, Arthur knew Merlin wasn’t going to be tending to him. He had been relieved then, still angry at the servant for the things he said. Arthur laughed strangely, grief crawling up his throat, as he realizes he went to bed _furious_ with Merlin while his servant was running away or—or worse.

            Now the prince is locked in his room on the cusp of hysterics. How could he have just disappeared? The idiot left a trail a mile wide when they went hunting and heaven knows he can’t enter a room quietly. Did something happen? It was like he was plucked out of existence and in his place Arthurs world bled. 

            Arthur twisted on his heel and brought his arms up on the turn, pushing his fingers into his hair and suddenly he was out of breath. He tried to inhale through this nose and exhale from his mouth but he couldn’t create the right rhythm and he felt light headed in seconds. _‘What did I do? What did I do?’_ He never thought Merlin would actually leave. Not in a million years, after everything they had been through, Arthur thought Merlin would always be here, with him, no matter—

            _What? How terribly you treated him_ , he snapped at himself.

            He stopped pacing and fell forward, catching himself by grabbing his bed post on the way down. Arthur pressed his forehead against the wooden pillar and tried to calm himself. He needed to focus. Merlin is _gone._ Merlin _left_ because he told him to leave and now he’s _gone._ He needed to believe that Merlin _left_ because the alternative—Arthur felt sick.

            He stayed down on his knees, gripping the bedpost, and let the noise of his own breath fill his ears. He didn’t have time for this. He needed to wrap his mind around this mission, his final task to prove himself worthy of being King. He needed to face Emily and Guinevere. He needed to prepare to go to war with Sidera—God, he was going to go to war. He needed to accept a future that he didn’t want. That was the reason he initially decided to look for Merlin; he wanted the idiots’ advice. His life was spinning out of his control and now he didn’t have his only real friend.

 


	3. Familiar Masks

Chapter Two: Familiar Masks

Merlin meets the caravan from Camelot on the boarder in disguise.

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: Plot movement…I feel that it’s a little slow

Words: 2502

XiiX

      Merlin stood on a cliff not far from the boarders of his Kingdom with his heart in his throat. The land is mountainous and riddled with shallow and steep hills throughout. Before him stood several dips and curves, covered by terse and strong grass accustomed to thriving in the harsh mountainside. Any minute now, around the curve of his land, Merlin would see familiar reds flying in the wind, signifying the arrival of Camelot’s royal party.  

      The Siderian Prince was dressed in his family’s leather cloak and a pair of dark brown leather gloves. Above his usual visage lined the face of another. It partially resembled his cousin Jacob, who had died too young defending civilians from Camelot’s forces during the Great Purge. Merlin remembered what Jacob had looked like before his face was marred by hot oil, and he remembers what he looks liked after. He thinks, maybe, Mapri crafted this glamour to remind him of his duty— _family, magic, Sidera first._

      He would be faced with the traveling party any moment now and offer his assistance to escort them to the capitol. Sideria had more than just dragons lurking within its borders, and could be dangerous for foreigners to travel alone—especially if they were flying Pendragon red. He saw the small narrow red flags creeping over the horizon first. They were attached to tall staffs that pierced the sky. It gave away their position before the party could see their surroundings. It was amazing that they made it this far without being attacked.

      Next, before the carriages came plowing behind, Merlin saw a line of three armored knights trotting along on horses. The knight in the middle—gods Merlin would recognize that posturing anywhere—was Arthur. The warlock couldn’t snuff out the thrill that ran through him. At this distance he could barely make out more than the blond hair and, even if it had only been just over a month, his magic stirred excitedly.

      Mapri’s glamour felt foreign, like a clay mask that suffocated his skin and irritated his magic. He felt his magic pick at his grandmother’s spell insistently, like it was trying to scratch it off. He sighed and tried to accept the enchanted veil, tried not to dwell on the fact that Arthur has never seen him without a mask of some sort.

      “Do you think he’ll recognize you,” Archimedes asked gently from Merlin’s side. He was coiled around the cliff at the Siderian princes’ back, ready to glide off the rocks at Merlin’s command.

       Merlin ignored the question. “Lets’ go.” He took a step backwards, eyes tracking the blond knight all the while, and straddled Archimedes broad back. “Take us down, I think they’re expecting to meet the Prince in a welcoming party.”

       The dragon shook his back, scale covered skin rolling and catching on the sunlight. “And are they expecting me?” He sounded amused. “Will they remember me, what was it that they called me?”

       “Shut up,” Merlin rolled his eyes.

        “Ah, right, Thunder. They called me Thunder.” The dragon chortled and cracked his wings twice before they were airborne, calling forth the noise that earned him the nickname from the knights.

        “You’re an idiot.” The warlock grumbled as they glided toward Camelot’s visiting party.

XiiX

       Arthur heard the crack through the cold air before he saw anything. He looked up, hand instinctively going for the sword on his hip. In hindsight, Arthur would congratulate himself on not startling out of his horse, much like Leon and Kay who flanked him did, when the dragon came into view.

       Their caravan stopped abruptly, the carriage rocked precariously and the servants walking alongside gasped. Inside the carriage, Gwen and Morgana grabbed each other’s hand. “What’s happening?” Morgana asked but she was immediately told not to leave the cabin by knights disguised as servants on the other side of her door. Outside the carriage, the knights pulled in closer as they watched the dragon descending. The only true servant among them was Gwen, who was already tucked inside with Morgana.

       “Sire,” Leon asked carefully from his place to the left of Arthur. “Does that dragon look… familiar to you?”

       The prince squinted up at the dragon and immediately recognized the animal; it was the same that had chased him out of the Valley of the Kings so many months ago. Arthur cocked his head and felt himself relax before he could really contemplate making the decision, “stand down.”

       Kay, who flanked Arthur by the right, gave the other prince a horrified look. “ _Stand down_?” He hissed and pulled the reins on his horse, trying to steady the steed. “Are you out of your mind? It’s a dragon.” He regarded the blond like he was stupid.

       “We’ve, uh, we’ve met before.” Arthur shook his head. “I think, this is our welcoming party.” He pointed up at the dragon, now able to make out the person straddled on the things back.

       “Is that a bloke?” Kay asked, suddenly more curious than scared. “I’ve heard that Siderian’s road on the back of dragons, I’ve just never seen it.”

       The man on the dragons back was wearing a leather copper robe that fit tightly around his broad shoulders and lean waist. The material tapered off around the hips, lose fitting and almost flowing around his legs most likely so that he could move his legs freely and still ride. He appeared as comfortable as any horseback rider Arthur had ever seen, and seemed to take to the serpentine movements of the dragon effortlessly. Dust flew up into the air as the beast neared the earth, now descending just a few meters away.

       “That’s our greeting party?” Kay asked incredulously as they watched the man swing down from the dragon and the two, man and beast, began to walk toward them.

        “I think that is Morgana’s betrothed,” Arthur said slowly and Kay growled.

        “State your name,” Leon hollered. Apparently, he was the only one with any sense right now as Kay and Arthur were too busy gawking.

         Both the man and winged beast stopped walking, now they were only a mere few feet away. Up close Arthur could see that the man was tall and his hands were gloved, probably to protect him from the chilly air while flying. Other than the fact that he was riding a dragon, however, he looked rather plain. Normal. He was reasonably handsome, had straight white teeth and an oval face with sandy brown hair and hazel eyes.

        “My name is Prince Ambrosius Myrddin, Son of Dragonlord Balinor.” The name felt thick and awkward on Merlin’s tongue. He never went by his given name, but it wouldn’t do to introduce himself as Merlin. “Forgive me, but it is not the Dragonlord way to bow. I hope I do not offend you with our customs.”

        Arthur was about to introduce himself when the dragon rumbled next to Ambrosius, “my name is Archimedes. I am his royal guard and representative of the Dragonlord. He gives his well wishes and awaits your safe arrival.” He nodded his head in greeting.

        “Pleasure,” Arthur cleared his throat, a little stunned at the scholarly voice that came from the dragon—Archimedes. “I am Prince Arthur Pendragon. I travel with my First Knight Leon and Prince Kay of Kent.” All three men offered a shallow bow, as was their custom. “Inside the carriage is your…betrothed.” He paused for a second, feeling weird introducing Morgana as anyone’s betrothed. “But, we’ve met before, I think.” Arthur sounded like he was holding his breath.  

        Merlin stiffened, but then realized Arthur wasn’t talking about him.

        “Indeed,” Archimedes answered, sounding delighted. Undoubtedly, he enjoyed talking around the knight. After all, the dragon had seen Arthur many times over the course of Merlin’s three year stay in Camelot. “I apologize if I…frightened you.”

        Arthur just scowled. He didn’t like admitting he was ever frightened. He certainly wasn’t going to do it in front of Kay and Leon. “Not at all,” he shook his head. “Though I am curious why you were within my Kingdom.” He gave the dragon a pointed look and crossed his arms.

        Merlin tried to smother the grin that tugged on his lips. He never thought he would get to see the day Archimedes and Arthur _argued._ “I think both sides have done some things that they may not be proud of,” Merlin spoke up and swatted at the dragon good naturedly. He turned to the travelers from Camelot, “he means well, honestly. Archimedes, despite his appearance, is not much of a fighter.” He looked up at Archimedes fondly.

        “Forgive us if we can’t take your word on it,” Kay replied icily.

        Lightening quick the Siderian prince stepped forward and turned his head from Arthur to the red-haired knight. “You don’t really have a choice, do you?”

      All three foreign knights balked and Arthur eyed the warlock up and down. This man’s voice, _Ambrosius,_ sounded familiar, and so did his quick-lipped come back. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and he felt some electricity through the air. Arthur suddenly felt Merlin’s absence like a ghost haunting him and fought the urge to look over his shoulder. If Merlin were here, that’s where he would be. Right behind him, backing him up. He swallowed a knot in his throat and grazed past the tension in the air. “Will you two,” he gave a kind smile to Archimedes, “be our escorts into the capitol?” Kay and Leon trotted closer with their horses.

       “Yes,” Merlin answered breathily. “Our lands can be somewhat dangerous, especially if you carry that.” He pointed to one of the four Pendragon banners.

       “We travel peacefully,” the blond knight sounded offended.

       “Historically those colors mean death to my people. You may not get a warm welcome from everyone you encounter here,” the Siderian Prince warned.

       “Can’t you control your people?” Kay asked, sounding annoyed from behind Arthur.

       “They’re you’re people, and yours.” The Siderian Prince addressed both Arthur and Kay. “Most of the people settled here are refugees from other kingdoms, especially along the borders, and they are afraid.”

       “I’ve no intention of harming civilians,” the blond knight said softly but his eyes were hard. He meant what he said. For a moment Ambrosius and Arthur stared at one another and came to some kind of silent agreement.

       “I will ensure that no harm comes to you on our travels.” Merlin hoped that he was projecting trust toward his friend, even if he went unrecognized.

       Arthur snorted. “And you’re to be our…protection?” He eyed the Siderian Prince up and down. “No offense, but you don’t look like much of a fighter.” 

       Merlin quickly quipped, “Let’s just say I’ve been training since birth.”

      Arthur startled ever so slightly, anyone else might miss it but Merlin saw the tick in his shoulder. “I’m sorry? What was that?”

       The Siderian prince coughed. “I’ve been practicing my magic since birth. I feel pretty confident I could protect your caravan.”

      Arthur only stared at the strange royal, though. He was hardly dressed like the royalty Arthur had seen all his life. The cloak he wore was certainly made of a finer material, and he was in the company of a dragon. Who would ride a dragon but Siderian royalty? However, he was skinny. Most of the nobles Arthur met were either fit or fat. High-class that did not swing a sword or engage in other physical matters often grew large due to their wealth. Maybe Sideria was experiencing a famine, or this person was not who he said he was.

      The blond knight remembered that there was a rumor going around for many years that the Siderian prince was feeble and sickly. There were also rumors that he had actually died as a child and the Dragonlord was keeping it quiet while he tried for another male heir. Who knows if this lanky dragon rider was actually the prince, or an actor. “How much longer till we reach the capitol?”

      Sidera was mountainous and dry along the south, which provided for good protection from Camelot and Mercia, but it also made the area mostly unfit for farming. The southern part of the kingdom had few settlements and the caravan from Camelot had yet to see a single person after entering Sidera. The capitol was situated within the mountain system, but behind the first ring of mountains. From here, Arthur and his caravan will begin to see settlements of refugees and Siderian citizens.

       “To be honest,” the Siderian Prince smiled sheepishly. “I’ve never made the journey on horseback. Flying it’s only about a candle mark, but I imagine the caravan will take most of the day. We’ll arrive before sundown, which is best. After dark, my lands get more dangerous.”

      Arthur had a tight expression on his face. He didn’t like having to follow this sorcerer onward, especially through a strange land such as this, but as he said before—he didn’t have many options. “We should get a move on, then.” He suggested and climbed up on his horse once more.

      “There is a proper welcoming party waiting for you and your people once we arrive,” Ambrosius called as he, too, climbed back on Archimedes. “I’ll fly above you, as a look out and guide. Just follow this road onward, it will take you to the capitol.” Ambrosius explained and climbed astride Archimedes. The dragon’s wings beat against the air three times and lifted them into the sky.

      “So, that was the Prince of Sidera.” Leon said after a moment of silence.

      Arthur only grunted; Kay remained silent.

      “What do you make of him, Sire.” The knight asked as they began to trot forward at a steady pace. The carriage behind them could only go so fast.

      Arthur couldn’t shake a strange feeling, like there were cobwebs falling down his face and back. He was uneasy. Finally, he answered slowly, “I don’t think they suspect anything, yet.”

      “I don’t trust him.” Kay announced. “Something about him seems off, I can’t put my finger on it…but there’s something about him.”

      “What?” Arthur snapped his head up. “What did you say?” He had the nauseating sensation of déjà vu again.

      “There’s something about him,” Kay repeated. “I don’t know what it is yet, but he’s hiding something. All the reports of the Siderian Prince have described him as a sickly whelp without magic. That fellow, whoever he is, seemed pretty healthy to me and he said he’s been training since birth.” Kay appeared angry, as if upset that their information had not been correct.

      “You think he is not the Prince?” Leon asked thoughtfully. He had come to a similar conclusion as Arthur.

      “Or perhaps our information is bad. Maybe the Siderian’s only wanted us to believe that their heir was weak.” Kay glared at Arthur dangerously. “Don’t trust them lightly, Arthur. Sorcerers lie and we are headed to the heart of lies as we speak.”


	4. Three Young Kings and the Witch

Chapter Three: Three Young Kings and the Witch

Both Arthur and Morgana have second thoughts

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: None

Words: 2725

XiiX

       Inside the carriage, Morgana and Gwen listened to the exchange and fought the urge to open a door. “They’re…. talking?” Gwen whispered with her ear up to the thin wooden wall and eyes nearly going cross to see out of the narrow window. “It’s the prince out there, Ambrosius.”

       Morgana bit her lip and wished she could step outside and confront her intended. “Can you see anything? What does he look like?”

       The handmaiden huffed and leaned back, “I can’t see a thing. The angle is wrong,” she explained. Gwen stroked her hand over a long wooden box. It was one of the few things she brought on this journey.

      “What is that?” Morgana asked, nodding toward the cased draped over her servant’s lap.

       Gwen gave the other woman a thoughtful glance. “It’s the only thing of worth I have left.” She thumbed the switch on the side to open the box and revealed a long and brilliantly crafted sword. “It’s the best sword my father ever forged. He was so proud of it, I think he was planning on offering it to the King before…” _before he was sentenced to death for sorcery._ “If we end up running away, we’ll need money. We could sell this and make out alright, I think.” When Morgana had told her about Uther’s plans, the girls originally planned to run away. Recently, though, the Lady’s plans had changed.

      “Oh, Gwen,” Morgana darted forward and slammed the case shut. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you don’t have to sell that sword, I promise.” Her eyes were like steel, clear and hard. Gwen just nodded her head and they sat in silence, trying to listen in on the muffled conversation outside the cabin. Minutes later the carriage rocked, and they were moving again.

      Gwen sighed, forlorn. “How long do you think we have to travel?”

      Morgana looked over at her handmaiden. Gwen with a sword forged in Camelot on her lap, already homesick. She felt the distance growing between her and her only childhood friend, but Morgana was so ready for Morgause to fill that void. For months, her sister has been visiting in her dreams. Morgause tells her things, things about her mother, and father, and Uther. Morgause tells her about magic, teaches her how to use this thing inside her.

       Sometimes they share memories in these dreams and Morgause helps her make sense of her visions. Other times they share their deepest desires. Sometimes their wishes twist around one another and its one tangled image of Uther dying a bloody death. Morgana wakes feeling refreshed and alive, ready for the real thing and Morgause can give that to her—has promised it.

XiiX

       When the caravan passed the first township about an hour into their journey, Arthur was not prepared for Archimedes to swoop down and land. He watched in fascination as the people down below greeted the dragon with smiles and not fear. If a dragon landed in Camelot there would be pandemonium. A small child ran up and offered a flower to Ambrosius, totally unafraid.

       “They’re all mad,” Kay cried at the spectacle. “I wonder if there are any normal people in this kingdom, or if they’ve fed them to the dragons already.” Kay gripped his reins and ignored the horrified looks the other two knights gave him. “Don’t you ever wonder what they eat? They’re huge, and Balinor has more than just that one.”

       “He’s got a point, Arthur.” Leon admitted and suddenly looked a little more uneasy.

       The blond knight didn’t say anymore as they were coming up to the village now. It was like walking into a room full of people who had just been gossiping about you. The villagers stopped laughing, stopped smiling, stopped talking. Mothers yanked their children closer, some people walked away, young men wrapped their hands around shovels and pitchforks, and the air was dead silent.

       Arthur looked around and then to Leon and Kay who were also at a loss for words. He didn’t know what to say; clearly these people were afraid of them. 

       Ambrosius jumped from Archimedes and walked toward the traveling party from Camelot. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’ll be needing to stop and meet with my people on our journey. My father wants the common folk to be able to celebrate with us,” he explained. Merlin was also hoping to show Arthur what Sideria was truly like, and not what Uther had made it out to be.

      “I don’t see how we have a choice,” Arthur grumbled. He didn’t want any more surprises.

      The Siderian Prince only grinned before addressing the small crowd of villagers that had accumulated. “These people are from Camelot and they travel in peace.” He earned some skeptical glances from the crowd. “Balinor has sent me to escort them and I will be marrying the Lady Morgana to unite our lands, to end the fighting.”

      “You’re getting married?” The little girl with the flower squeaked.

      Ambrosius grinned down at her. “Yes, and Balinor asked me to bring you all a gift so that you may celebrate with us.” He walked over to a large bench that was used to wash vegetables picked from the fields behind the village and waved his hand. The table top was suddenly brimmed with breads, cheese, fruit, chickens, ham, pies and other sweets, as well as several barrels of wine. The crowd cheered at once and the children ran up on the table.  

      Arthur watched on, feeling again like an outsider looking in on a private moment. A second later Ambrosius broke away from the crowd and approached Kay, Leon, and himself. “They have agreed to allow you to refill your canteens, water the horses, and stretch your legs, if you need it.”

       “Oh,” Arthur jerked his head a little in surprise. He hadn’t missed the hostile looks they had received only minutes before. “That’s…. kind of them.” 

       “Are you sure it’s safe?” Kay asked Arthur, ignoring Ambrosius all together.

       “Yes,” the Siderian Prince snapped, craning his neck so Kay had to look at him, and Arthurs gut twisted in odd familiarity. “I told you I would protect you, and my people wouldn’t go against the Dragonlords wishes like that. Just stay close to your caravan. Tell the Lady Morgana she is welcome to step outside, meet her future people.”

       Kay squinted at the Dragonlords son, obviously considering a rebuttal or even drawing his sword, but before the confrontation could get out of control Leon and Arthur were stepping out of their horses.

       “Here,” Arthur handed his reins to a servant that ran up from behind the carriage. “Take the horses into the field, let them eat and drink. Don’t forget the horses on the carriages, either.” The servant nodded, only gulped once, and began to do as he was asked.

       Merlin recognized the servant as Jasper, one of the knights that often-accompanied Arthur to the Tavern. “And Lady Morgana?” He asked, trying so sound like a curious groom and not a nervous friend.

       That earned him a glare from Arthur, but Merlin was used to those and fought the urge to roll his eyes. “If you’re sure it’s safe…” The blond knight agreed skeptically.

       “I swear it.” The Siderian answered quickly.

       Arthur nodded once and to the right Kay clenched his teeth. The Prince from Kent still felt robbed of his chance to bed Morgana and was taking his anger out on the Siderian. Arthur knocked on the cabin door, “Morgana we’ve stopped for a moment. Would you like to walk around, meet some villagers maybe? Prince Ambrosius has requested your presence.”

      Silence filled up the space between them and Merlin held his breath. Finally, though, without words, Morgana opened her door and slipped outside into the chilly mountain air. She looked right past Arthur and the other knights and stared into the Siderian’s eyes.

      Merlin knew immediately that she recognized him.

XiiX

       Morgana would like to think that she would have known Merlin’s lanky frame anywhere, but now she might have to admit that if Morgause hadn’t told her what to expect—she might have missed it. _Ambrosius_ stood firm, so unlike the awkward servant bumbling behind Arthurs shadow, and even under that mighty powerful glamour she could tell this person was shrewd, watchful. No, it would be easy to mistake the two—no one would assume Merlin and Ambrosius were one in the same. After all, her daft brother didn’t recognize him even now.

      Another shock, more devastating than realizing Merlin was actually the Dragonlords son with his own agenda, was the truth about her parentage. She felt that somewhere all along she had known the truth—Uther is her father; Arthur is her brother. She is a bastard Pendragon, begot but not recognized. The realization only made her hate Uther more, and resent Arthur for everything that he had.

      The Lady schooled her features into something between a snarl and a smirk as she glared past her half-brother and stared Merlin down, remembering her sisters warning.

        _Don’t trust him, he killed Mordred for Arthur and he’ll kill you too._

Morgauses’ words ran through her veins like ice and even now she fought the urge to strangle him. She could feel the magic within her writhe at the thought of lashing out at him. She struggled to reign it in, trying to remember her role.

      Morgana stopped taking the sleeping draught and met her sister’s dream-state tutelage every night. She started to see things, understand the webbings of fate before them and what options she had. She had seen Arthurs death, and how she played her hand in it. She had seen her own demise, and knew she needed to end Merlin but it was not her destiny to defeat Emrys. No matter how much she craved his death, it was not within her power. Morgana saw Merlin live a long, lonely life, for eons, in every infinite variation of fate— except one.  There was one way to kill him, and it was more satisfying an end than anything she could have imagined.

      While Morgana herself was not meant to slay the great Emrys, she did know how to make it happen. She just needed to bide her time and with her sister and Nimueh, she could get everything she wanted: Uther, Arthur, Merlin dead and Camelot at her feet. “My lord,” she stepped up to the prince and curtsied but was stopped half way down when Merlin took her hand.

      “Please, here you will never bow to anyone again.” He squeezed her hand once and then slipped an arm around hers. “Call me Ambrosius, we don’t much care for titles, either. Would you like to meet some of your people?” Merlin hoped she caught the double meaning— _your people by marriage and by magic._  

       Morgana nodded and Gwen, Kay and Arthur followed while Leon stayed with the caravan. The five of them walked down from the dirt path and toward the Village. Upon their arrival, the children stopped playing with Archimedes, who was now thrashing around on his back complaining of being overpowered, to giggle at the Siderian Prince and Morgana.

       They must look like something out of a fairy tale, arm in arm in a mountainous landscape with Archimedes lounging next to them. Merlin took a second to wonder what life could have been like if Morgana had grown up here, in Sidera. They may have ended up marrying in that reality, too. They were cousins—but so distant it hardly mattered and magical families often practiced inbreeding to produce magically strong offspring. Merlin tried to imagine Morgana in a gown with a low-cut bust line and betrothal necklace, one like his mother and Mapri wore, and thought she would look fierce—a bride fit for a Dragonlord.

      Two boys ran up to them, joining the gaggle of children. “Is this Lady Morgana?” One of them asked.

      “Yes,” Ambrosius answered.

      “Can she do magic, too?”

      Merlin felt Morgana stiffen at once, knowing that Gwen, Kay, and Arthur were all nearby. “Would you like to see some magic?” He tried to distract the little one, and it worked. The group of children cheered him on. Beside him Morgana relaxed. “How many of you can do magic?” The Prince asked and gently detached himself from Morgana so he could crouch down.

      Most of the children twisted around with their arms behind their backs. Not many of them seemed to have any magical talents, but two children raised their hands. “We can, we can!”

      “Want to learn a new trick?” Ambrosius asked while on one knee in front of the children. Behind him Kay, Gwen, and Arthur observed the exchange.  

XiiX

       Arthur watched in quiet interest from behind Morgana. He had assumed that all of these villagers would be sorcerers, or at least it would be easy to spot the difference between magic users and non-magic users. Uther had told him that _normal_ people were treated poorly in Sidera, like slaves. Here, in this village on the outskirts of the kingdom where the poorest of people must dwell, he could see no difference between the families that had magic and those that did not.

      The Siderian Prince stood up and held out his hand, palm up, and spoke a strange language that made Arthurs heart pick up. He had only heard these strange words under few conditions—when someone was trying to kill him and when Morgause had summoned his mother’s spirit. Neither encounter left him feeling particularly good.

      But this time no danger or Earth-shattering event followed the words. Instead, a bright blue orb materialized in Ambrosius’s hand. Around him the children awed and the little orb fluttered around, brightening dirty little faces as it floated from child to child.

      Beside Arthur Gwen gasped and clutched his arm; it was the first time they had stood next to one another or touched since he had been promised to Princess Emily. Arthur looked down at her tentatively, but she wasn’t paying him any attention now. Her eyes followed the blue light with rapt attention.

      Slowly, Arthur felt the tension in his stomach untwist like a worn knot falling out of place. In the privacy of his own mind he could admit that the spectacle was harmless, or it appeared that way. He listened to the Siderian Prince instruct the children on how to create the little orb, and something about being useful when one didn’t have a torch.

      He also noticed how Morgana curled closer to the Siderian Prince, clearly interested in his lecturing. Then, like an arrow to the heart, Arthur recalled Mordred’s childish face peeking around Morgana’s skirts. It made him stagger slightly, suddenly dizzy with grief as if he heard the news for the first time again. _Mordred died, Arthur. I’m so, so sorry._ Merlin had told him the next morning, early, before the sun crept over the horizon. It was probably the only time Merlin had ever been early, and it was so apparent that he had been crying when the dawn finally fell over his face. Arthur hadn’t teased him for it.

      Arthur hadn’t saved Mordred. He had broken Morgana’s heart and let a child die. Now, he was surrounded by more innocent children who were playing with little blue lights floating around like fireflies. He was going to bring death to their doorstep. This village would be the first trampled by Kent and Camelot’s combined forces on their way to the heart of Sideria, once he completed his mission.

      Gwen squeezed his arm gently and pulled him away from his thoughts. “M’lord?” She whispered, but the others heard. Arthur looked up and the Siderian Prince was staring right at him.

XiiX

      Ambrosius stopped their travels six more times before they reached their destination. Each village and settlement was similar to the first, though the communities grew larger and wealthier the closer they came to the capitol. They came across one Druid camp and Arthur tasted ash in his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter everyone meets at the welcoming party and one side makes their move.


	5. Welcoming Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin gets push back from his family and Morgana sets her plan in motion. Familiar characters resurface.

Chapter Four: WELCOMING PARTY

Merlin gets push back from his family and Morgana sets her plan in motion. Familiar characters resurface. 

Ratings: Teen

Warnings: Eh brief sexualized scene between Morgana and Kay, long chapter…it’s like I couldn’t help myself.

Words: 4424

 

XiiX

      Arthur looked around his guest chambers with heavy suspicion. The room was cozy, he had to admit; not very spacious but warm despite the large frosted window facing the snowy mountainside. His bed was made up with black furs and soft blankets, all a deep burgundy color. He could see no obvious signs of tampering within the room—then again, Arthur isn’t entirely sure what it is he’s supposed to be looking for.

      Morgana and Gwen have the room across the hall from him, and Kay and Leon have rooms to his left and right, respectively. The _servants_ had rooms in another hall. Ambrosius had left Arthur almost as soon as they were brought to the main castle, claiming he needed rest or something before he attended the welcoming feast. Now, alone, Arthur paced his guest room anxiously.

      Kay had the crystal; they needed to find a way to get it into the caves. Their best bet would be to give it to a knight disguised as a servant, as they would not be missed as easily—but both Kay and Uther insisted the duty was too important to leave to anyone but one of the Princes. That did not leave them with many options, or much time. Morgana would be married off tomorrow evening during a nighttime ceremony on the terrace. Their timeline left them with tonight and tomorrow morning only. Tonight, at the feast, Kay and Arthur would look for an opening, figure out how to reach the crystal caves. Easier said than done. Attacking the Siderian’s before the crystal choked off their magic was suicide and they did not know how to navigate the castle.

      A knock fell against his door and, not for the first time, Arthur fought the urge to tell Merlin to go get it. “Coming,” the blond prince called after a second of melancholy and went to the door. He expected Kay or Leon, maybe even Prince Ambrosius; instead he met, “Lancelot?”

      The would-be-knight stood in the doorway with downcast eyes, appearing more sheepish now than when it was discovered his highborn documents were forgeries. “Sire,” he said after a moment and lifted his head. Lancelot stood with his legs apart, arms crossed behind his back, and he wore a sword at his hip.

      “What are you doing here?” Arthur demanded, bracing his arm against the doorway defensively. Their last meeting had been a tense one, and Arthur was not expecting to see friends within these walls.

      Lancelot looked up because no matter how uncomfortable the man was, he would look Arthur in the eyes as he spoke. “I… am serving as a Siderian Rider, Sire. After we escaped from Hengist’s castle I traveled north. I met Percival, another swordsman, who was protecting a caravan of refugees through open territory. We helped the refugee’s get here and I have been in the service of the Riders ever since.”

      Arthur gripped the threshold with more force, as he felt somehow betrayed. That was silly, though, wasn’t it? Camelot banished him, it was only natural for Lance to go to their enemy. For a brief second Arthur wanted to curse his father for sending the man away. “What are you doing at my door, then?” His voice was a more icy than he meant it to be. He thought of Guinevere; he had rejected her, too. She had no reason to remain loyal to him, either.

      “It was highly likely that we would see each other during your visit…and I wanted you to discover my being here like this, rather than in front of Balinor’s court.” Of course, always honorable, the peasant knight. Arthur grit his teeth; if only he had more men like Lancelot.

      The prince looked down, cleared his throat. “Yes, well, that was thoughtful of you but not necessary.” His voice was tight.

       “Sire,” Lance sounded somewhat urgent and leaned forward. When he saw that he had Arthur's attention he continued. “I want you to know…that no matter what may happen, you can still count on me to do the right thing.”

      Arthur’s brow furrowed and his top lip jerked into a sneer. He wanted to ask what Lance was getting at—but couldn’t risk showing his hand, either. What did Lancelot know? Was the Dragonlord planning something, and was Lancelot here trying to warn him?

      Just then Morgana’s door opened across the hall and Gwen appeared. “Lance?” She looked right at him, as if Arthur were invisible. “What are you even doing here?”

      The Siderian Rider gave Arthur one last apologetic look, and then turned to Gwen. “My lady,” he said breathily and held out an arm.

      “I’m no lady,” she corrected automatically and Arthur realized that he never once called Gwen a _lady._

      “Good thing Siderian’s don’t care about titles,” Lance grinned as she accepted his arm. “Where were you and the Lady Morgana headed? I would be happy to escort you.”

      Arthur slit his eyes. Where were they going, indeed?

      It was Morgana who spoke up. “Prince Ambrosius has invited us to a pre-dinner drink in his private court yard.” She looked over Gwen’s shoulder at her half-brother. “Were you and Kay not invited? Hm, wonder why?” She smirked, indicating she knew _exactly_ why they were not invited.

      “Nonsense, I will get my coat.” Arthur growled, teeth still clenched. It felt as if everyone surrounding him knew more than he did. He could sense from Morgana’s calculating stare that she was holding cards close to her chest. It was no surprise she was against this farce of a marriage arrangement. She had lashed out at first, all but spitting in Arthur's face when she heard of her fate. Then...then, there was a shift. Arthur assumed Uther had spoken to her, used his fatherly charm that he only ever shared with Morgana, and changed her mind. Now, however, Arthur feared that wasn't the case at all. He returned a moment later and took Morgana by the arm, maybe with more force than necessary, and they walked through the hall with Lance as their escort. 

      “I can’t believe you’re here,” Gwen smiled up at the Rider just in front of Arthur. The handmaid and Lancelot walked ahead of Arthur and Morgana, clearly smitten and alone in their own world.  Lancelot explained again how he ended up wearing Siderian’s colors, this time adding that Gwen was the one who inspired him to do and be better. “You always show up when I need you the most,” she gushed. It made Arthur’s blood boil.

XiiX

      Merlin all but ran back to his chambers after walking Arthur and his party into High Tower. His face was burning violently in an attempt to peel back his grandmother’s enchantment. Kay had noticed his eyes watering and asked if something was wrong, surely looking for a sign of weakness. Merlin had been afraid his magic would begin to shred away the glamour, first with his eyes which had been subdued from his natural bright blue to a soft brown. Would Arthur recognize his eyes? Merlin is sure he would recognize Arthur’s eyes even on a different face.

      Mapri was waiting for Merlin in his chambers, as they had planned. During a few test rounds, they realized her enchantment would only hold for so long against Merlin’s own magic. “Is it already deteriorating?” She asked with a roll of her wrist, urging her grandchild closer.

      “I think my magic dislikes hiding from Arthur,” he admitted before grabbing at his face in pain again. His left eye was blue and parts of his head had black hair, rather than the auburn brown he was supposed to be wearing. When he attempted to rebuild this charm himself his magic all but refused.

      “Nonsense,” Mapri frowned as she began to rework her spell over his face. Her magic was rebuked a few times and her frown became deeper. She glanced at Merlin, giving him a look that clearly indicated that she actually believed him now. “Why would your magic resist a glamour around Arthur?”

      Merlin sat down at a nearby chair in his sitting room so Mapri would have better access to his face and looked up. “My magic has always responded…strongly to Arthur. It’s like an excited dog when it sees its master—ah, ow!”

      Mapri had smacked him on the back of the head, heavy rings crashing into his skull with the full force of her small hand. “Your magic is not a dog to Arthur Pendragon!”

      The prince hunched over briefly and cupped the back of his head, now completely carpeted with brown hair again. He bit his lip, feeling torn not for the first time since he had become so entangled with Arthur. “You might not like it,” he responded after several agonizing seconds of Mapri glaring at the back of his head. “But my magic _is_ fond of Arthur. It always has been, since I first met him.” He stood up and met Mapri’s steely eyes with his own. He had always found Mapri to be intimidating. Yes, she was his grandmother and undoubtedly, she loved him…but she was also a powerful witch and often made Balinor flinch. She was his family’s matriarch and he had never seen her lose a fight. He didn’t have much of a choice now, though.

      Mapri slit her eyes and crossed her thin arms over her chest. “Are you sure it is only your magic that is fond of him?”

      “You sound like Nimueh,” he shot back angrily.

      “At least I know which side she’s on!” Mapri roared and grabbed hold of her grandson’s shoulders. “You’re too kind, like your father. I know you want to see the good in everyone, but Merlin, _Emrys,_ you must be prepared to make the tough choices.”

      Merlin shrugged the older woman off. “Don’t you think I know that?” He was tired of getting unsolicited advice about his destiny and what he _must do._

She shook her head in disapproval. “Too much like your father,” she repeated. “You both trust Arthur’s heart too much. How can you be so sure he will do the right thing when push comes to shove?” Balinor was convinced that Arthur was the Once and Future King of Albion, while Mapri and many others in their court still believed it was Merlin who was the Once and Future King. One destiny or two entwined—Merlin’s own family was divided on the issue. 

      “Let me worry about Arthur,” he snapped.

      “And his heart, too, no doubt.” Mapri sneered and before her grandson could argue back she turned and left.  

XiiX

      Arthur walked into the royal courtyard with Morgana on his arm and took surveillance of the place. The courtyard was an open plateau along the western wall of the palace. It was now after dark and nothing could be seen beyond the stone perimeter of the courtyard, though Arthur knew if he could see only sky and mountain side would be visible. The courtyard was surprisingly warm, perhaps from magic or just from the large, floating, torches that surrounded space.

      A handful of servants hovered in the background with trays of drinks and a table near the western side of the courtyard rows of wine-filled goblets sat on a table, but nothing more. It did appear to be a smaller drinking hour before the grand feast scheduled for some time later. The atmosphere was somewhat jovial, with live music, and it was clear that most of the other guests knew one another. Arthur was also at once aware that Morgause was in attendance. He felt a flash of heat rush through him and itched for the sword that wasn’t on his hip.

      Morgause stood across the courtyard speaking with a dark-haired woman that Arthur did not recognize. She was beautiful with pale skin and rosy cheeks; she wore a deep blue gown that looked both disheveled and elegant. She appeared young, maybe younger than Morgause, but her eyes were shrewd. Morgause and this mystery woman glared at him as if they were sizing him up. Arthur remembered his last sword fight with Morgause and desired a second go at her. He still felt confused and hurt over his brief meeting with the ghost of his mother—if that even was her and not some witches trick.

      The blond prince glanced at Morgana and saw that she was trying to extract herself from his arm, no doubt wanting to go to Morgause, but a couple stopped in front of them.

      “Prince Arthur, Lady Morgana.” A large man with a black beard greeted them warmly. He was smiling, it looked genuine, and it set Arthur off balance immediately. “I apologize that I was not able to meet you at the boarder myself, but I trust my son and Archimedes treated you well.”

      Both Arthur and Morgana blinked up at the couple. _This_ was the Dragonlord and his Queen, Hunith. Arthur felt unsteady on his feet as he looked up at the bear of a man. He could never imagine Uther walking up to guests like this. Uther believed in demonstrating his power over visitors, especially if they happened to be others with power. Uther always first met guests from his throne room, looming over everyone.

      Here, Balinor was trying to shake his hand like they were old friends. Arthur almost fell over. “Ah, yes,” the blond knight recovered after a moment and accepted Balinor’s hand. “They were both very helpful.”

      “We’re so happy to have you here as our guests.” Hunith smiled warmly at the lady and prince. Her smile caused an unfamiliar sting in his heart. “Have you met our daughters?” She waved forward two girls, twins, about 12 years old. They were both dressed in purple gowns and had unusual hair. The girl to the left had a head of nearly all silver-grey, with a single strip of black tucked behind her right eye. Her sister had all black hair pulled back in a loose bun with a strip of curled silver hair over her left eye. “This is Mim,” the girl with mostly silver hair smirked, looking like she could give Morgana a run of her money. “And this is Map,” the other girl smiled and blushed while pressing closer to her parents. "Girls, this is Morgana and Arthur.'

      “Nice to meet you both,” Arthur returned though he still sounded like he was in a daze. This was not a part of his original plan. He did not want to meet a _family_ with young daughters and know that he would have a hand in their death. Unthinkingly he gripped Morgana’s hand at his side and squeezed. Morgana glanced at him out of the corner of her eye but was distracted as one of the twins began to talk.  

      “This is Morgana?” Mim asked, sounding unimpressed.

      “Mim,” Hunith hissed and jerked her daughter back by the shoulder. Balinor only laughed deeply, the sound coming from his belly.

      “What,” Mim groused from behind her hair. “She doesn’t look like,” she paused somewhat awkwardly as if in thought. “Ambrosius’s type.” Unbeknownst to Arthur, the twins found using Merlin’s given name awkward.

      “I think she’s more beautiful than Nimueh,” Map argued with her sister and Hunith looked like she wanted to dissolve from embarrassment. It was terribly domestic and it made Arthur’s gut sour. He felt dizzy, sick; he was prepared to kill a war-mongering sorcerer—not this proud father and his family.

      “Arthur,” Hunith sounded concerned and reached out a comforting hand to the knight. “Arthur, are you alright? You look a bit pale.”

      Arthur realized he had looked down and jerked his head up abruptly. “I apologize,” he choked out and separated from Morgana, even if leaving her alone was a bad idea. “I need a drink, excuse me.” He staggered away and went immediately to a table with filled goblets. Behind him one of the twins laugh delightedly as Balinor hauled her up on to his shoulders and Arthur knocks his head back to take another drink.

XiiX

      Morgana is more than relieved when Arthur finally steps away from her. She thought for sure he would be safe-guarding her all night, which would not only be annoying but devastating to her plans. She looked across the courtyard and caught Nimueh’s calculating stare. Morgana might have Morgause’s support, but she has yet to prove herself to the older witch.

      “Would you like to go see Morgause?” Hunith asked kindly.

      Morgana’s attention snapped back to the Dragonlord and his Queen. They seemed nice enough, but she could smell their weakness just as Morgause had described. These people would never stand up to Uther or Camelot and with Merlin sniveling behind them, they would never kill Arthur, either. “Is it that obvious?” She sighed, using a sugary voice that always worked on Uther.

      “Please, go be with your sister,” the Queen smiled and leaned against Balinor. The Dragonlord wrapped one arm around Hunith and the couple made Morgana sick with their complacency. While they lived safely tucked away in Sideria, sorcerers were dying daily. She couldn’t get away from them fast enough and went immediately to her sister.

      “This is the little witch Morgana?” Nimueh smiles and it’s like violence. Morgana is immediately aware that she has never met anyone like Nimueh before.

      “This is my sister,” Morgause corrects gently. “She knows what to do, and when. She’s a powerful seer. Not even Gaius and his potions could thwart her visions.”

      The killer smile on Nimueh’s face dissolves and that is, somehow, even more unsettling. “I’ve heard of your visions.” She sounds jilted, bitter. In recent weeks, with her sister’s help, Morgana has filtered through various scenario’s—all possibilities within this reality. Fate is complex, and predicting outcomes are messy. Morgana has worked hard to examine each and every variation of their fate.

      If Nimueh battles Merlin, she will die.

      If Morgause battles Merlin, she will die.

      If Morgana battles Merlin, she will die.

      If all three witches attack Merlin—they will die.

      Merlin, _Emrys,_ is nearly immortal. Nearly.

      “This plan had better work; we will not get a second chance.” Nimueh warns, but the macabre smile is back on her face. Her original plan had been to trick Merlin into sacrificing his life for Arthur's, then to have Morgause kill Arthur in battle. However, Morgana had told them this plan would fail like the others. Only Mordred was fated to kill Arthur and none of them were fated to defeated Merlin.

      “It’s the only way to kill Emrys, I’m sure of it.” Morgana smirks, feigning confidence she doesn’t quite have yet. Surrounded my mortal men all day she generally feels empowered. Faced with Nimueh and Morgause, however, Morgana can sense her own inexperience.

      “Well, here comes our chance.” Morgause says into her goblet and Morgana twists toward the entry way where Leon and Kay have joined the party. “You know what to do.”

      With that, Morgana glides forward and met Kay near the dance floor. Servants walked around them, bringing plates with the evenings feast to a large table with chairs. Soon the feast would be in full swing, but for now a few partners swayed on the dance floor. “Kay,” she walked right into his arms and ignored Leon standing nearby. “Dance with me, would you?”

      “Of course,” if Kay found it strange that Morgana suddenly wanted his attention he decided to ignore it. He walked her onto the dance floor with one hand, grinning lecherously as they went.

      “What do you think of Arthur and Emily?” Morgana asked as they began a close but otherwise simple dance.

      “Together?” He asked and eyed her up and down. She wore a dark green down with black lace. She resembled a viper, voluptuous but still slender and so, so deadly.

      “Yes, they’re a beautiful couple, but…” She trailed off while running her finger along Kays shoulder in a pattern she had long since memorized. Her finger trailed down, over his heart, crossed it three times. “I feel like you and I would have made a better pair.” She looked up at him and her eyes were molten gold.

      Kay is already under her spell and doesn’t see the witch before him. “We do make a better pair.”

      “But if I marry Prince Ambrosius tomorrow, we can never be together. You must kill the Dragonlord and his son tonight.” She advises smoothly as they turn around the dance floor. Her eyes are no longer golden, but her spell is still being woven into his heart and mind.

      “That’s not the plan. We need to get into the crystal caves first—end all magic.” He still has enough sense to argue, so Morgana kisses him quickly on the lips.

      “Give me the crystal, and I will take it to the caves while you kill Balinor and Ambrosius. It’s the only way we can be together.” She pins him with her eyes and Kay blinks once, twice, in a daze. “Isn’t that what you want?” She leans into his body and presses her silken thigh between his legs. Kay groans and sinks into her, smells around her neck and Morgana rakes her nails into the hair at the base of his neck. “Give me the crystal so that we can be together,” she repeats directly into his ear and allows Kay to gently ride her thigh.

      Kay, now hopelessly under her spell, agrees into her neck— “yes.”

      “Good,” the witch pulls back gently, hiding the disgust she feels from being pressed so close to Kent's Prince. “Go to the throne room after you’ve got the crystal. I will bring the Dragonlord to you.” Morgana pushes Kay away and he wonders out of the party, back to his guest room to retrieve the crystal.

XiiX

      Merlin entered the courtyard after being reunited with Art, who was now sitting on his shoulder. “What the hell?” He hissed once seeing Morgana pressed up against Kay on the dance floor. Merlin knew better than most—Morgana loathed Kay as much as he did.

      “Well that’s just rude,” the dragon sniffed and looked away. "She's likely to cause a scene."

      “No,” Merlin argued slowly. “She’s up to something.”

      “Well, you’re not the only one who’s noticed.” Archimedes observes slyly and Merlin looks to the left and catches Arthur staring at Morgana and Kay, as well. The blond knight looks scandalized—clearly he is equally surprised to see Morgana and Kay dancing so…intimately.

      Then Kay staggers away, walking toward Merlin, and Arthur takes off like a shot. To Camelot’s prince, the shock on Ambrosius's face might be confused for anger—after all, Morgana _is_ his betrothed.

      Merlin lets Kay go but he quickly asks Archimedes to go to his mother and sisters. _“I have a bad feeling about this. Protect them until I know what’s going on.”_

      Archimedes gives Merlin a contemplative look; he doesn’t want to leave his side—but Merlin can handle himself. _"Be careful brother,”_ the dragon flies off and joins Mim and Map near the dance floor where they are now speaking with a group of other noble children. Merlin has a second to think of Margo and his other cousins, even Freya, but then Kay walks past him as if he doesn’t even see the Siderian and Arthur is a few steps behind.

      “Leaving the party so soon,” Merlin—now re-concealed as Prince Ambrosius, stepped in front of Arthur’s path. “You don’t look so good,” he observed bluntly after eyeing the other up and down.

      Arthur grit his teeth and watched as Kay walked off doing God knows what. “Yes, well,” he cleared his throat. “This is all rather new to me, and I wasn’t expecting Morgause or Nimueh to be in attendance.” His voice was strangled. Seeing the witches was like scenting blood in the water and it agitated him, even if that wasn’t exactly why he was trying to leave.

      Ambrosius looked over Arthur's shoulder to see Morgause, Nimueh, and Morgana watching him and Arthur like a small but furious pack of wolves. It made his magic coil and hiss protectively. He took an instinctual step closer to Arthur, for a moment forgetting that his friend did not recognize him. “Morgause is my distant cousin and Nimueh…has been a part of the Dragonlord counsel for many generations—though her future position is uncertain at best.” 

      Arthur frowned at the other prince, first because Ambrosius moved closer and then because his animosity toward the witches sounded genuine. “Do you speak of all your friends this way?”  

      “They are not my friends,” Ambrosius shot back heatedly and the two men locked eyes. After a moment Merlin looked away and kicked himself. He shouldn’t be arguing with Arthur now. “They’re cruel and we have a different philosophy about how this war should end.”

      “And what philosophy is that?” Camelot’s prince asked quietly. He, too, was aware that he was being watched by the three women. Something was wrong, here. Morgana was aligning with Nimueh and Morgause. Arthur knew Morgana was Morgause’s sister, though he believed Morgana didn’t know it—he very much doubted that now.

       “Camelot has long believed that there are two sides: magic and non-magic users.” The sorcerer realized he had an opportunity to speak to Arthur on the same footing. Merlin might have been Arthur’s friend, but Prince Ambrosius was Arthur’s equal.

      “Isn’t that how it is?”

     The Siderian shakes he head. “There are two sides, but only war and peace. We’re both going to be kings one day. Which would you rather inherit?”

      Arthur said nothing, only worked a knot in his throat. Uther wanted victory in battle to be Arthur's inheritance. A world without magic, with Balinor and his son dead— _This will be your greatest inheritance—_  Uther's exact words. Arthur thought of Mordred, and the children he had met traveling through Sideria. “How can you expect me to trust you?” Arthur asked, and he realized that he didn't want war. He never did. 

      The sorcerer smirked, “we’re going to be brother-in-law’s, won’t we?” Merlin’s heart breaks as he remembers one drunken night with Arthur. The knight had said if Merlin had been a prince, they would be like brothers. He hoped Arthur would be moved by his subtle call-back. “If you really want to get away for a moment, I would be happy to walk you around the throne room.” Merlin held his breath and fought the urge not to look back up at the three witches across the court yard. He wanted to steer Arthur away from them, and Kay—maybe if they were alone he could talk some sense into the other man.

      Arthur saw an opportunity to learn the layout of the castle. It was rumored that the Dragonlord’s throne room connected to the caves to allow for the dragons to join his counsel. This might be Arthur’s only chance to get into the throne room and discover how to get into the caves. “That’s very hospitable of you,” Arthur answered slowly, his heart and mind unsettled more now than ever. “Lead the way.”

            Behind them the three witches smirked; the first part of their plan was in motion.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should have clarified this earlier BUT Merlin's real name is Prince Ambrosius Myrddin. This is explained in the first story in the series, Forefathers and Fate Makers, if you didn't read it. If you're wondering where I got this weird name from, Geoffrey of Monmouth's (who is a real person) composited Merlin based on two other historical characters, Myrddin Wyllt and Aurelius Ambrosius. So, I combined the two and made Merlin's official given name Ambrosius Myrddin, but Hunith has always called him Merlin for short and this is Merlin's preferred name. I figured it was fitting, as Merlin rejects the title of Emrys in the series...so I figured he wouldn't like his stuffy royal name, either. 
> 
> Also, is anyone confused with my interchanging use Merlin/Ambrosius throughout this fic? Be honest. I might go back and ax the us of "Merlin" any time Arthur is in the scene to avoid confusion... 
> 
> I rewatched most of the last season of Merlin recently for some agnsty inspiration. Lets all have a moment of silence for the crippling ending.....  
> On a related note, totally forgot how handsome Percival is. Those arms! The BBC is wrong for giving him the sleeveless chain mail like some gay porn Arthurian parody...oh wait. 
> 
> Right now my plan is to publish chapters once a week, usually late on Monday/Tuesday in the early AM because I'm a night owl. 
> 
> I appreciate everyone's patience as we truck along...I was finishing an internship where I had no wifi (crazy right) from January through May and in May I finished graduate school, got a puppy, and got engaged! I've been busy. However, this series is still so important to me...I mean, we're at over 97k words and I still have alot to wrap up, obviously. This is nearly a novel! I really hope I deliver in the end. I think the big reveal between Merlin and Arthur will be satisfying and angsty. I love the angst. It's also nearing very soon. As I mentioned in a reply to one of the comments, it all goes down in the throne room.


	6. Traitor

Chapter Five: TRAITOR

Morgana, Morgause, and Nimueh’s plan comes to a head and no one is prepared for it.

Ratings: Explicit 

Warnings: Character death

Words: 2500

 

XiiX

            Arthur feels a prickle on the back of his neck as Ambrosius leads them away from the courtyard. He’s suspicious of the Siderian’s motives and expects a trap. Still, he may not get a better opportunity to find an entrance to the crystal caves.

            Ambrosius smiles and flicks his wrist into the hallway before them and a lit torch comes flying forward, lighting the way as it sails through the air. The torch stops, hovers in front of Ambrosius, and Arthur reminds himself to breath. “The throne room isn’t far,” the Siderian says brightly over his shoulder at Arthur. “There’s someone I want you to meet.” Merlin wants to introduce Arthur to Kilgharrah and settle this Once and Future King business for good. If anyone would know—it would be the Great Dragon.

            “How did you do that?” Arthur asked, ignoring the other man’s statement. “I didn’t hear you say any words for a spell.” The knight didn’t know much about magic, but he knew it usually required a few weirdly spoken words.

            Ambrosius looks at Arthur seriously. The light for the torch is bright, but it throws rapidly dancing shadows around the hall and across their faces. It makes Arthur have to squint to focus his vision, and sometimes—when the angles change just so—Ambrosius looks strangely familiar.

            “I don’t need to use a spell for simple things. My magic reacts with my will and intent,” he explains carefully and looks away. Merlin feels wildly uncomfortable and simultaneously thrilled. He has the opportunity to be more honest with Arthur now than he ever has in the past.  

            “Are you all like that?” The blond knight asks carelessly, now only half paying attention to where they are going. “Can you all…”

            Ambrosius rubs the back of his head awkwardly. They’re near the end of the hall and the air is growing colder. They’re walking farther into the mountainous castle, reaching the deepest point before there is nothing but raw caves. “No, it’s rather rare for a sorcerer to be able to cast without knowing the spell to focus their magic.”

            “Can the Dragonlord do that?” Arthur had heard stories of the Dragonlord sacrificing dozens of people to increase his powers.

 Again, Ambrosius appears uncomfortable but reluctantly answers. “My father isn’t a particularly strong sorcerer, aside from being a Dragonlord. He actually prefers the sword.” He grins cheekily at the other prince, as if this information might please Arthur.

            “What about…about your mother?” The blond knight feels that chilling twist in his stomach as he thinks of Hunith again.

            “Oh, mum hasn’t got any magic.” Ambrosius laughs as they round onto large double doors made of thick wood and iron. They’re standing outside the throne room.

            “The Queen…er, Hunith, she isn’t—?”

            “A witch?” Ambrosius looks amused. “No, she’s never been able to do a bit of magic. She’s not even Siderian. My parents they…married for love.” Ambrosius clears his throat, looks away and flicks his wrists again. The doors fling open, revealing a massive room with high ceilings. Along the back wall, several yards into the chamber, there sits two basic chairs carved out of stone—one for the Dragonlord and one for his Queen. Most of the walls are polished stone, but behind the throne the wall is jagged, rough, and there are several gaping holes digging into the caves, access points for dragons to come and go.

            But Arthur isn’t looking into the room. He should; he should be eyeballing the most direct path into the crystal caves to complete his mission. Instead, he’s looking at Ambrosius. “You don’t really want to marry Morgana, do you? There’s someone else,” Arthur observed with uncharacteristic shrewdness and slit eyes. He was trying to understand these people. He wanted a reason to dislike them, to _hate_ them.

            “I want peace,” that was the truth, but—

            “That’s not what I’m asking you,” he took a challenging step closer.

            “Yes,” Ambrosius admitted on a small breath. “There’s someone else.” He pinches his eyes shut and stammers, “Ah, a-a, servant. It’s unrequited.” He looked away, face aflame from embarrassment and the glamour.  

            “A servant?” Arthur’s stomach dropped. He should have thought of Guinevere, but instead he remembered pale skin, clear blue eyes, and sharp cheek bones. The light was flickering wildly, playing tricks on his eyes. Ambrosius looked up and not for the first time Arthur feels a thrill of familiarity.

            A booming voice shook through the cavernous throne room and jolted the two men apart. “You’ve brought the son of Uther Pendragon to the heart of Dragons Keep?” Kilgharrah came wading out of the raw cave networks, his face and long neck bobbed over the throne room.

            “Kilgharrah,” Ambrosius exhaled and ducked away from the other man as if they’ve been caught.

            Meanwhile Arthurs eyes have blown wide in amazement. He had seen Archimedes at his full size out in the open, but Kilgharrah is easily three times the size of the younger dragon. “Wha—” He whips his head from the dragon to the other prince.

            “Arthur, this is Kilgharrah, the Great Dragon.” The Siderian walks forward and Arthur follows a few steps behind. “He is the oldest and wisest of their kind and holds a high place in my fathers’ council.” The dragon dips his head in acknowledgement to the humans before him.

            “How do you do,” Arthur walks across a metal gate laid across an opening on the floor. It startles him further, and he looks down. He can’t see the bottom of the hole, but he recognizes a holding pit when he sees one.

            “I’ve brought him here to settle something,” Ambrosius explains while carefully avoiding the gated holding pit.

            “You want to know if the young prince is the Once and Future King,” Kilgharrah deduced, already bored.

            _Once and Future King_ —from that farmers bedtime story Merlin told him?

            “Yes,” the Siderian answered and leaned forward on his tip-toes. They were still several yards back, closer to the entrance than to the actual throne. “I’m sure he is the one, but Mapri will not believe me.”

            Arthur watched Ambrosius closely. He remembered listening to Merlin prattle on about a man that would become King of all of Albion and unite the land in peace—for both magic users and non-magic users. Does Ambrosius really think Arthur is this person? As a future king himself, Ambrosius stands to lose power and influence if another man is destined to be the king of _all_ of Albion. However, Ambrosius doesn’t appear resentful—in fact, it looks hopeful, excited.

            The Great Dragon clucks and taps his claws thoughtfully. “It looks as if you have bigger problems right now, little warlock.” Kilgharrah motions toward the doorway.

            Both Ambrosius and Arthur turn around to see Kay standing in the doorway. He is clutching a cloth-wrapped object about the size of a pear in one hand and in the other he is holding a dagger.

            “Kay, what the hell are you doing?” Arthur growls, unreasonably angry at the other man. This was the plan, right? It was Arthur who was deviating.

            “I’ve got to kill the Dragonlord and his son. It’s the only way we can be together,” Kay answers and sounds simultaneously calm and deranged. He isn’t looking at Arthur at all but his eyes are hard fixed on the Siderian.  

            Behind them Kilgharrah settles back, as if he expected this all along.

            “We?” Arthur asks, confused. “What are you talking about?”

            Kay doesn’t answer, though. Instead he darts forward and makes a direct path toward Ambrosius. The Siderian doesn’t look concerned, doesn’t even move out of the way—Merlin could do any number of things to stop Kay with little more than a thought—but he doesn’t have to. Kay throws the dagger toward the Siderian and Arthur quickly pushes Ambrosius down and out of the way.  

            “What the hell are you doing?” Arthur yells as he recovers, standing in time to shove Kay away and into the ground a few feet away. The crystal rolls away, but no one notices as Arthur stands between his friend and the Siderian Prince. From the ground Merlin looks up at Arthur and remembers how he came to be in Arthur’s service in Camelot. He thinks there might be hope for the brute, yet.

            “It’s the only way I can be with Morgana,” the red-haired prince sounds as if he’s repeating a script.

            _Morgana—_ the warlock cuts his eyes suspiciously and stands beside Arthur. Kay was a bully, but he had always been a smart one. Had Morgana bewitched him?

XiiX

            Out on the courtyard Morgana approaches the Dragonlord and Hunith, who are now making small talk with Nimueh. “Balinor,” she gasps fearfully. She rehearsed this enough times, knew how to infuse her voice with the right amount of concern and weakness that made men believe her. “I think something terrible is about to happen.”

            “What is it, child?” Balinor asked and stepped away from his wife. Nimueh followed him, appearing equally concerned.

            “Arthur and Kay have gone into the throne room… I know why they’re here and what they plan to do.” She took a deep breath and searched Balinor’s eyes with her own and knew she had him eating out of her hand. “You have to stop them. They have the Eancanah Crystal, please.”

            “We’ll take care of it dear, don’t you worry.” Nimueh comforted the younger woman but looked back at Balinor with unease. This would ruin all of Balinor and Merlin’s plans, but they had no choice.

            A grim expression settled on Balinor’s face before he shouted into the air in the dragon’s language. Everyone in the crowd stopped and turned their head, but Balinor paid them no mind and instead turned back to his wife. “I’ve ordered Durraca and Archimedes to stay with you and the girls until I return.”

            “Balinor, is everything alright?” Hunith frowned as Durraca appeared in the night sky just to land in the courtyard nearby. Archimedes went to Mim and Map.

            “It’s nothing our son and I can’t handle,” Balinor winked and kissed his wife on the head before walking off with Morgana and Nimueh.  

XiiX

            It took the three only minutes to reach the throne room. As they stepped inside Kay was being thrown down by Arthur and the crystal rolled to Morgana’s feet. “What’s going on here,” Balinor hollered at the foreigners and withdrew his sword.

            “Kay attempted to kill the Prince.” Kilgharrah answered. “The little whelp has been bewitched. We should place him in the isolation pit and find out how this happened.”

            Arthur’s fingers twitch nervously. He’s sure the isolation pit is that gated trench he walked over only moments before, but he wasn’t keen on dropping his ally in there. “What will happen to him?”

            Ambrosius gives Arthur a sympathetic glance, “if he’s been bewitched then nothing will happen to him. We do not hold people accountable for their actions if they are under a spell. If he is under a spell, the isolation pit will sever its claim to him while he’s down there. It also severs a sorcerer from his magic…but it’s safe for non-magic users.”

            “Son, are you injured?” Balinor asks his heir, but is keeping an eye on Kay who is still on his knees at the business end of the Dragonlord’s sword.

            “No, I’m fine. Arthur pushed me out of the way, actually.” The Siderian Prince watched as Arthur relaxed just a fraction and Balinor shot his head up in surprise.

            “I insist we place Kay in the isolation pit.” The Great Dragon pressed on and Merlin realized that Morgana and Nimueh had drifted closer to Kilgharrah, almost as if to align with the dragon. Morgana had the Eancanah crystal wrapped in her arms, and a watchful expression on her face. If she was the one who enchanted Kay…why would she want to place him in the pit?

            Balinor sighed and walked briskly to Kay. “Very well,” he growled and heaved the younger man up roughly by the elbow to more or less drag him toward the gated pit. Behind them the witches and Kilgharrah moved from the back of the room toward the gate. Merlin watched silently as the Great Dragon walked forward; he appeared somber. Morgana was alight with anticipation and Nimueh moved like a coiled snake. Something was wrong. Merlin went to stand next to his father and Arthur followed.

            “Father…something’s wrong…” he tried to warn Balinor quietly, but it was no use. They were surrounded by friends and foes and Merlin was no longer sure who was on which side anymore.

            The Dragonlord gave his son a serious look before handing Kay over. “Hold him while I get the gate,” he ordered.

             Ambrosius held Kay back with his hands and could immediately sense a fizzle of magic around his person. The spell cracked and buzzed; it was poorly made and unsteady. A spell like this could cause a person to go mad. He felt sorry for Kay, just for a moment, until he lashed out again. “I’ll kill you, I’ll kill you all. I’ll fucking kill you!” Kay howled madly and jerked forward, toward Balinor.

            “Get him ready,” Balinor advised as they shuffled around the now open gate. The opening was to Ambrosius’ back and Kay stood between Balinor and the Siderian Prince.

            “What’s wrong with him?” Arthur accuses the room, but stands close to Ambrosius all the same. Something is wrong. He looks across the room to Morgana and seeks her eyes for some sign that his instincts are wrong. Why is she standing next to Nimueh?

            “Balinor,” Nimueh speaks abruptly. She’s standing behind the Dragonlord with Morgana at her side. Kilgharrah’s massive head hovers over them all but he only winces, looks away.

            “What is it,” Balinor snaps without turning around. He’s alternating keeping his eyes on Kay and Arthur, who is standing next to his son.

            “Before we do this, I need to ask you one more time. Which is more important to you—peace or vengeance?”

            Balinor does turn his head then and looks back at Nimueh and finds her eyes burning gold. Her hand is up, but it’s not directed at the Dragonlord. “You know my answer.”

            “Yes,” Nimueh says a little sadly. “I think I do.” With that she slashes the air with her arm and wind knocks the Siderian prince and Kay apart—sending Merlin flying back into the pit and Kay forward toward Balinor.

            The isolation pit is deep and dark and with the light goes Merlin’s magic, but before he falls too far he watches Kay sink a second dagger into his father’s chest. He tries to scream but his heart is in his throat and everything feels cold. In hindsight Merlin won’t know if this cold dread settling in his gut is from watching his father die or being cut off from all his magic—but he’s never felt so hopeless.  
XiiX


	7. Secrets Come out in the Light

Chapter Six: SECRETS COME OUT IN THE LIGHT

Arthur and Merlin are both trapped in the isolation pit

Ratings: Explicit 

Warnings: Character death, *magic reveal*, angst, violence, dark themes

Words: 3554

 

XiiX

            Balinor crumbles to his knees while Kay holds the dagger to his chest with both hands. The Dragonlord tries to look to Nimueh or Kilgharrah for help, but Kay pulls the dagger out and sends it right back in, shredding muscle and tearing past his breast bone to his heart. He watches his own blood spray across Kay’s face until his heart stops pumping and his vision dulls.

            Arthur feels frozen as he watches Kay stand, pulling the bloodied dagger out of Balinor’s lifeless body and turns around. Kay is speckled with blood. The blotches are so fine it’s difficult to tell them apart from his natural freckles.

            “Well done,” Morgana croons from across the room and Kay jerks his head in her direction.

            “Morgana, what have you done?” Arthur might not want to believe it but there’s no denying that Morgana has something to do with this.

            “What’s the problem, Arthur? Isn’t this what you and Uther wanted all along? Sell me off as a bargaining chip so that you can get close enough to kill them and use this,” she twists her hand in the air, holding the Eancanah Crystal.

            “I didn’t want it like _this,_ ” Arthur argued despite the harsh reality. This was the plan he had agreed to within Uther’s council room. He knows now, after witnessing it, he would never have been able to go through with it.

            Morgana ignored him, however. Instead she refocused her gaze on Kay, who now floated around the lady waiting for further instruction or maybe just an ounce of praise. “Kay, you’ve done so well,” she purred and stroked his face with the back of her hand.

            Kay closed his eyes and leaned into her touch.

            “Would you like your reward?” She asked sweetly and Kay nodded. “Go to your knees,” she instructed and Kay obeyed immediately with his eyes still shut. “Very good, my darling.” She looked down at him with her lip upturned and then refocused her gaze on Arthur— “Kilgharrah, please do the honors.”

            The Great Dragon moved like a cracked whip, swinging down in one smooth motion to seize Kay with his jaws and devour him head-first. Arthur watches Kay’s booted feet kick around the dragon’s teeth before Kilgharrah swallows and the lump slides down his long throat into his stomach. There was no blood, no screams. In a flash it was as if Kay never existed at all. Arthur stumbled back and again wished he had a weapon of some sort. 

            “Don’t look so pale, Arthur,” Morgana laughs, a shrill insane sound that makes him cringe.

            “Why are you doing this?” Arthur asked and looked to Nimueh, wanting to shift the blame.

            “Because Uther would have me killed!” Morgana screamed and demanded Arthur look at her, _see_ her. “Did you know you’re my brother?”

            That got his attention. “What?”

            She rolled her shoulders and settled back, looking to Nimueh and Kilgharrah. “I can handle this." She wanted privacy, a moment alone with her brother. “You need to meet Morgause on the battlefield and be there when we take Camelot.” She looked over at Arthur. “With the Dragonlord dead the Siderian’s will be hungry for war and the dragons will gladly bring it.” She watched the grey realization wash over his face—Camelot and Kent were walking into a trap.

            “If you think you can handle this,” Nimueh agreed reluctantly. She had no interest in standing around while the children of Uther Pendragon sorted out their family drama, but that didn’t mean she trusted Morgana to get the job done.

            Morgana smirked. “Oh, I can handle my brother just fine. I’ll be along shortly.” She offered the cloth-wrapped crystal to Nimueh and the priestess accepted it.

            “Very well,” the older woman acquiesced and looked up to Kilgharrah. “Shall we?” She tucked the crystal away, hiding it in her robe.

            The Great Dragon tipped his head for the Priestess and allowed her to crawl onto his back. Together they would be able to convince the Siderian’s and dragons to go to war, an outcome that Balinor never would have allowed while he was alive. It did not bring Kilgharrah any pleasure to see Balinor murdered, but Nimueh had promised something Balinor would have never delivered on—the fall of Camelot and the end of Uther Pendragon. He fled into the crystal caves with Nimueh, rallying the dragons as they went.

            “You’re wrong,” Arthur said once they were alone and shook his head.

            “About what exactly, that I can handle you, or that your actually my brother?” She snapped and allowed her eyes to burn gold. She may not be as strong as Nimueh or Morgause, but she had enough power to do what needed to be done. 

            Even if he suspected it, more than suspected it, seeing the evidence in Morgana’s eyes still made Arthur’s heart race. _Morgana is a witch._ He worked his throat as it was suddenly dry but managed to stand his ground. “You're wrong to think that father would have killed you…no matter what, we—Morgana, I would have protected you.”

            She scoffed, “like you protected Mordred?”

            Arthur winced as if he had been burned.

            “Oh no, that’s not actually your fault now, is it?” She sounded contemplative. “No, that’s Merlin’s fault.”

            “What?” He hissed, as Merlin was far from his mind right now. What did he have to do with any of this?

            “You know, my nightmares started to get worse once he began working for you? At first I thought I was losing my mind!” She looked eerie with her flowing black hair and magnificent gold eyes. “Turns out it was my magic trying to warn me. I dreamt a thousand ends, each of my death, and Morgause and Nimueh. Do you want to know how we die, every time?”

            Arthur realizes then that he’s between Morgana and the isolation pit. He hasn’t heard Ambrosius since he fell—did the man die down there? Is he unconscious? “They’re just dreams, Morgana. I’d never hurt you.”

            She laughed again, throwing her head back madly. “No! I know you could never hurt me; it was _Merlin._ ” Her voice was dark with animosity and she took a step forward. “You should ask him about how he killed Mordred…but don’t worry, I might not be able to settle the score but you can, dear brother.” She shoves forward with all the force of her sapling magic and Arthur slides against the stone until his heels are on the edge of the pit, teetering.

            “Morgana, please you don’t have to do this,” he isn’t begging for himself. He’s begging for her, to save her from herself.

            “Awe, but Arthur I want to,” and with a final wave of her hand he tumbles backwards.

XiiX

            Merlin wakes at the bottom of the isolation pit with his face smashed into the cool stone floor. He can hear shouting above him and recognizes Morgana’s voice, hears his own name. _Oh no._ He jerks up into a sitting position and recoils at the pain; his head is ringing and he’s overwhelmed by a full body ache unlike anything he’s experienced before. It’s his magic; it’s gone and so is the glamour around his face. Merlin feels around his cheek and nose and the blunted roundness of his guise is gone. If Arthur saw him like this—

            Above them he hears Morgana evoke Mordred’s memory and then a scrape of feet against stone. He looks up and see’s Arthurs back, his arms spinning to save his balance but it’s too late. Arthur falls back much like Merlin had and Merlin is powerless to stop his decent, just as he was powerless against his father’s attack. 

            Merlin does the only thing he can think of to help soften the blow; he rolls over flat onto his back and positions himself to blanket the ground under Arthurs fall. The impact knocks the wind out of him but Arthur lands somewhat safely with his back against Merlin’s front. The back of Arthurs head cracks Merlin in the nose, otherwise they’re mostly ok.

            Arthur groans and rolls away, pulling himself onto his knees and cradling his head close to his abdomen.

            “Arthur?” Merlin asks and realizes his voice has changed back to his normal timbre, too.

            The blond prince jerks his head up at the sound of his name spoken by a familiar voice. The bottom of the pit is dark, they can barely see outlines of one another but the hairs on the back of Arthur's neck are already standing on end.

            Merlin swallows a painful lump in his throat and crab-walks backwards until he hits the wall. More distance meant it was less likely Arthur could see him. “My father…is he?”

            Arthur winces and grabs the back of his head where it collided with the other man’s face but says nothing. Instead he looks up at the bright mouth of the pit where Morgana is standing over them with a lit torch.

            “The Dragonlord is dead, _Ambrosius._ ” Morgana sneers from her place above them. “Or should I call you Emrys? It’s so hard to keep up, these days.”

            This is it, this is everything Merlin had worked so hard to avoid. His father is dead. Camelot will be destroyed. Dark magic has won and now Arthur is going to hate him.

            Arthur looks from Morgana to Ambrosius, who is still squatting on the ground. He had heard of the sorcerer Emrys; Uther did fear him. Could this scrawny unassuming prince really be the fabled Emrys? Arthur stands, balls his fists and shouts up to Morgana. “Let us out of here!”

            “Oh, I plan to let you out eventually, brother. I have something else planned for you. First, though, I want to let our friend here in on a little secret, since he’s so fond of them.” She raises one slender eyebrow. “You might want to listen to this, Arthur. I think you’ll find it very interesting.”

            Merlin feels like he could shake apart.

            “Emrys, you’re a great and powerful wizard. You’re so powerful that Uther has feared you for decades and even a priestess of the Old Religion is no match for you. Did you know that you’re  _nearly_ immortal?  There is _one_ way you can die. I’ve seen it.”

            Merlin can feel Arthur’s eyes slide from Morgana toward him and he is acutely aware of how defenseless he is down here. Cut off from his magic he is no match for Arthur or his rage. “Please don’t do this,” his voice cracks and he pushes himself up right to stand.

            “Tsk, all secrets in the dark come out in the light,” she sing-songs and holds the torch over the mouth of the pit. “As it turns out, the only person that can break your heart is also the only person who can kill you. How romantic.” She drops the torch.

XiiX

            Arthur watches the Siderian Prince as the torch descends, brightening the pit as it falls. It clatters to the floor between them and the look of hurt confusion that floods Arthur's face is more deafening than the echo of the pit itself. “Merlin?”

            He doesn’t know what to say. What can he say? Merlin presses further into the wall of the pit, wishing he could dissolve into stone like he had weeks ago in Camelot. It was hopeless, though; he was no sorcerer down here.

            “ _Merlin,_ ” Arthur snarls and takes an accusatory step forward. He thinks this must be a trick. This can’t be Merlin, his friend, that would mean— His hand flies forward and knots a handful of the other man’s shirt in his fist to jack him up the wall. “How?”

            “Boring question, brother. You should ask him about Mordred. Don’t you think it’s bizarre that you can’t recall that night? It’s almost like you were under the influence of some powerful magic—oh,” she gasped and her fingertips covered her mouth. “I’ve said too much.”

            “What?” More confusion marred Arthur’s face as he looks at this person wearing Merlin’s face. “What is she talking about?” He shakes the other man violently, demanding answers.

            “Tell him, Merlin. Tell him how you murdered a little boy and let Arthur think it was his fault!” Morgana howled, it was a wonder how no one came to investigate—ah, but yes, Nimueh and Kilgharrah were outside telling everyone Camelot and Kent had murdered Balinor and his heir. A war was being incited. No aide would be coming.

            “No, it’s not true. This is a trick,” Arthur shook his head and moved his eyes anywhere but Merlin. He looked sick, literally like he might vomit.

            “Oh, but it is true, Arthur,” she crowed. “Don’t you remember? Magic doesn’t work down there. If you don’t believe me ask your manservant. I’m mostly sure he won’t try to lie to you this time.”

            “Is it true?” Arthur shouts in this stranger’s face and watches familiar features flinch in fear.

            Merlin says nothing but his eyes are wide and his shoulders are pulled up to his ears. Arthur shakes him again and bares his teeth. “It’s true,” Merlin whispers just loud enough for the two of them to hear, but Morgana must know the final verdict anyway because she cackles and throws down Kay’s bloodied dagger. When Merlin looks up she’s gone; her work here is done.

            “No,” Arthur barks, throttles Merlin against the stone wall, and backs away as if he can’t stand to touch the other man. “No,” he shakes his head and looks down in disbelief as he paces the small space like a caged lion. His lips are tight over his teeth when he looks back up, totally murderous.

            “I’m sorry, Arthur. I’m so sorry,” he’s still leaning into the wall. By now he might not be strong enough to stand on his own. He feels weak, the loss of his magic is like a phantom limb. “I never wanted you to find out—” _like this._

            “Oh yes, I’m sure this has ruined all your plans. Tell me, Mer _lin,_ ” the fond intonation never sounded so hateful. “Whoever you are, what was your end game?”

            “I’m still,” he had to take a breath, “Merlin. I serve you. That’s always been my plan, my purpose.”

            “Do not lie to me!” Arthur screams and picks up the dagger. It’s wet and red with Balinor’s blood and Merlin can’t stand to look at it. “How was killing Mordred serving me?”

            With his eyes squeezed shut Merlin turns his face to the side. His vision is darkening, anyway. “He was—Mordred was…” Merlin was starting to hallucinate from being trapped down here. He could hear Mordred in his head again, _aren’t you going to save me, Emrys?_

“He was what?!” Arthur stepped forward again and put the dagger under Merlin’s throat. “An innocent child, in your way? Did he know your secret and that’s why he had to go?”

            Merlin opens his eyes, though they are still heavy and hooded. He’s never seen Arthur look so angry, so hurt. It twists him up inside, to know that he’s causing Arthur this much pain and he hardly has enough sense to speak, “Mordred was going to kill you.” He moved his arm sluggishly and Arthur startled, fearful of the person he had pinned to the wall. Merlin moved until he could press two fingers into Arthur’s chest. He was so close Merlin could see the whites of his eyes. “Right here, with a sword. You die.”

            Arthur clenches his teeth and grips the dagger in his fist. “You’re a liar. All you’ve done is lie!”

            Despite everything Merlin smiles. “I tried…wanted to tell you so many times. I thought…together, we could save everyone.”

            “I should kill you,” Arthur’s tone is as cold as this place and twice as dark.

            Merlin sighs likes he’s resigned to it, but he must be half-way delirious because he starts to laugh at the end of his breath. “You’d have to, if you want to get rid of me.”

            “What does that mean?” Arthur asks between clenched teeth. “Are you threatening me?”

            “I’ll serve you till I’m dead,” Merlin announces with total conviction and feels some of his strength return. He still feels pain all over and it makes him wince, but the hallucinations stop for the moment.

            Arthur searches Merlin’s face for some tell, but he has to admit that he wouldn’t know what to look for, anyways. Merlin had been fooling him for years. This is the man who helped dress and bathe him, tended to every wound and sore muscle, brought him food, watched his back on countless excursions. This is the man who had saved his life, who knew his deepest secrets—who Arthur was sure loved him… “How can you expect me to believe anything you say? How do I know you didn’t plan this?”

            “Because I’m down here with you, you dollophead!” Merlin shouted, suddenly swollen with anger. He pushed against Arthurs chest with both hands, sending the other mand sliding backwards. “They killed _my father_!” His voice cracked as he glanced at the dagger still below his face, gods he could feel Balinor’s blood slip off the blade and smear across his throat.

            Arthur’s eyes flicked uneasily and lowered the blade when Merlin’s outburst turned into a sob. He hadn’t expected tears—this, this wasn’t an act?

            “My father is _dead_ and I don’t know what’s happened to my mother or sisters!” He feels hysterical because he hadn’t thought about his surviving family yet. All of Sideria believes the Dragonlord and his heir is dead. Terrible things happened to women and children at the fall of a regime. “Do you think I planned this? Do you think I wanted this?”

            Arthur didn’t know what to say. His fingers tightened and loosened around the hilt of the dagger. Merlin is a Siderian spy, a sorcerer, he should kill him right here. “I can’t trust you, not after everything—”

            Merlin cuts him off with a bitter laugh. “You trusted the servant Merlin and you were even starting to trust the Prince Ambrosius; I know you were. You saved me from that dagger…” the hallucinations filtered in again. He hears Gaius chastise him about using magic carelessly within Camelot and his own sullen response— _if I haven’t got magic I haven’t got anything._ “You trusted parts of me, but you can’t trust Merlin with magic? I don’t know what else I can do to prove to you that I—” he stops, breathes through another angry sob.

            Arthur chewed his lip. He remembered Nimueh’s question to Balinor before he died—peace or vengeance. Balinor chose peace and Nimueh had him killed. He wasn’t sure what to believe anymore. “Why would you want to help me?

            Merlin hears Mapri’s voice ringing in his ears now and hopes she’s alright. _How can you be so sure Arthur will do the right thing when push comes to shove?_   He tries to take a breath and chokes. “Because I love him,” he answers the nonexistent apparition of his grandmother.

            “What?” Arthur asks incredulously.

            Merlin turns his head back toward the other man as if he forgot he was there “M’sorry, this place…it makes sorcerers go mad. I can’t feel my magic…or the dragons. Oh, I’m the Dragonlord now. Can’t stop them down here, though.” He’s rambling nonsense.

            “Could you?”

            “Could I what?” The young Dragonlord asked but regained some clarity in his eyes. His awareness was floating in and out.

            Losing patience Arthur dropped the dagger all together and pulled Merlin upright by the shoulders. “Could you stop the dragons if you were outside this place?” Arthur wasn’t sure he could trust Merlin, but he knew he couldn’t trust Nimueh and she was the one pulling strings.

            “Yes, yes, I should,” he agreed and hoped he saw an alliance forming.

            “Is there a way out of here?” He walked Merlin into the wall again and pinned him with his eyes. Arthur watched the other man closely, as if he could detect lies swimming in Merlin’s blue eyes.

            “Up is the only way out,” the Siderian answered quickly. Usually there was a rope ladder kept nearby to bring prisoners up and down, though he hadn’t noticed one earlier.

            Arthur surprised them both with his next question, “what if you stood on my shoulders?”

            Merlin blinked at the other man dumbly and wondered if he was hallucinating again. “Wha—”

            “We don’t have time! If you really care about any of us then you know Gwen and my men are in danger. Your people will kill them first! Now, can you get us out of here?” Arthur was breathing heavily; his heart was weighed down and racing simultaneously as he thought of Gwen and Leon and the others. They may already be dead.

            “Yes,” the sorcerer answers reluctantly.

            “Alright,” Arthur sets his jaw and goes down on one knee. He laces his hands together to give Merlin’s foot a firm launching point and looks up. “I’ll get you to the top if you can crawl out with those skinny girl arms.” He eyes the other man’s biceps and see’s that he’s not as scrawny as he looks at first glance.

            Merlin’s stomach does a flip because that almost sounds like an olive branch but before he can smile Arthur cuts back in—

            “This doesn’t change anything, sorcerer. I need your help and you need mine…but don’t think we’re friends.”

            Merlin’s lip tightens into a small, bitter line. Arthur hasn’t forgiven him. He nods once and raises his foot to Arthur's firm hands. They have lives to save—Merlin’s bruised heart would have to wait.

 

XiiX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Cringes*  
> I really hope this was worth the wait. Of course, the boys still have alot to work out (I couldn't make it easy!) but damn...this particular scene was a long time in the making and I mulled over it for weeks. I even got my fiance to edit and bounce idea's off of...  
> PLEASE gimme some feedback on what you thought about the past two chapters. TBH I'll probably avoid my inbox for a few days because I'll be too anxious to receive disappointed reviews, but so be it if I didn't deliver, right?


	8. The Round Table

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur and Merlin work together despite Arthur's distrust

Chapter Seven: The Round Table

Arthur and Merlin work together despite Arthur's distrust

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Long chapter, sad!Merlin, mild violence

Words: 5436

XiiX

  
  
_Perilous Lands_

            On the moors of the Perilous Lands Kilgharrah and Nimueh meet a steely-faced Morgause on horseback. “I assume everything went to plan?” The blond-haired warrior asks while looking south, toward Camelot. She had gone on ahead to survey the enemy’s army.

            “Balinor is dead and Emrys is trapped in the isolation pit with Arthur. Morgana is staying behind to ensure that Arthur actually follows through and will use that transportation enchantment to join us in Camelot,” Nimueh answers her pupil. Behind her a hoard of 18 dragons of various sizes cloud up the sky. All but Archimedes and Durraca answered Kilgharrah’s call to arms. Much like the human citizens of Sideria—the dragons were also hungry for vengeance and were only being kept at bay due to Balinor’s influence.

            “Do you really think Arthur will kill Emrys?” Morgause was rarely expressive and even now, on the eve of a great battle, she was pensive.

            “He is the son of Uther Pendragon,” Nimueh scoffed. “He will lose his head and kill the little traitor, I’m sure of it.”

            “Good,” Morgause smirked dully. “Kent’s forces are camping at Camelot’s boarder, waiting for word from Arthur to attack.” What little mirth that was in her expression is gone. “They are a thousand strong, easily, but there are none from Camelot’s army. Uther is no fool. His men are still guarding Camelot,” she glares at Nimueh as if to ask for advice.

            “It hardly matters, no human army can withstand so many dragons,” Kilgharrah scoffed and his scales flinched irritably. He was insulted.

            “Camelot will not be worth its spoils if you and your kind demolish it,” Morgause reminded him somewhat harshly. They were not just in this for vengeance…three witches, three kingdoms at stake. Nimueh was poised to take Sideria; Morgause desired Kent; and Camelot would go to Morgana. The dragons, as helpful as their muscle might be, could not be depended on to win Camelot or Kent unless they wanted a scorched graveyard. They needed foot soldiers. 

            “You were promised Uther, anyway you want him, not the destruction of his Kingdom.” Nimueh reminds the Great Dragon with little patience. “And you will get him, but without significant damage to Camelot. We can handle the siege on Kent ourselves, after you and your brothers and sisters take care of their little encampment.”

            “You plan to take Kent and Camelot by yourselves?” Kilgharrah chuckled, clearly doubting the priestess. “You and what army?”

            Nimueh and Morgause look at one another out of the corner of their eyes, quick and deadly. “Let us worry about that,” Nimueh hums.

            “Kent’s forces are only a few miles out,” Morgause reminds them and pulls on the reigns of her horse. The 18 dragons behind them are nearing.

            “I will leave Kent’s army to the others,” Kilgharrah answers quickly and smoke rises from his nose. “My only interest in this farce is Uther.”

            “Very well,” Morgause answers and gallops onward. She, Nimueh, and Kilgharrah plow forward toward Camelot, while Kent’s unsuspecting army is attacked from the sky.

XiiX

_Sideria, Throne room_

            Merlin looks down at Arthur, who is on one knee scowling up at him, and considers how vulnerable the knight appears right now. They’re at each other’s mercy, maybe they always had been—but now they both know it and the stark reality is sobering. Down in the pit Arthur could easily over power and kill Merlin, but without him Arthur would never get out of here. For lack of a better option Merlin places one hand on Arthur’s firm shoulder while looking directly in the other man’s eyes. “You want me to, er,” _climb your body,_ he thinks hysterically.

            “Just do it,” Arthur snaps and locks his muscles. It’s fascinating to watch—the utter control the man has over his body.

            The sorcerer nods his head and saddles one foot in Arthur’s hand and the other on his sturdy thigh. Then, he’s babbling, nervous and running his mouth. “I’m surprised you didn’t insist on being the one who gets out first,” he mutters while gripping Arthur’s shoulder. He wobbles slightly as Arthur begins to stand, lifting them both.

            Arthur grunted, “like you could have held me up.” The Siderian feels unsteady as he goes up and Arthur wraps one hand around the other man’s leg for support. From then on, they avoid speaking. Arthur turns his face to the side, else he would be eye-level with the other man’s groin, and breaths through his nose. Merlin scrambled up, up, and up—fingers gripping Arthur's hair and sliding over his ear— until he got one foot on Arthur's shoulder.

            When Merlin’s fingers curl over the lip of the pit if feels like he’s dipped his hand in warm water. It’s his magic—trying to return to his extremities—and it makes him groan.

            “What is it?” Arthur hisses with his hands wrapped around the other man’s calf. “Can you pull yourself out or not, sorcerer?” He had refused to call Merlin by his name.

            “Yes,” Merlin answered through grit teeth and threw himself over the edge of the opening. They were alone in the throne room, which was good. If Kilgharrah had turned on Balinor there was no telling who else was aligned with Nimueh. “I’m almost—” he heaved himself up and over so that his upper half was laying on the floor of the throne room and his hips dangled over the edge of the pit.

            Arthur was able to break away then and stepped back. He was helpless down here and had to hope that Merlin wasn’t the enemy he had appeared to become. It was a bad plan, but his only option. He had to wait and watch Merlin’s skinny legs kick over the side of the pit while he pulled himself up. When Merlin slid all the way out he momentarily disappeared from Arthur’s line of sight and the knight felt a pinch of dread. “Hey!”

            “Shhh,” Merlin poked his head back into view almost immediately. Clearly, he was still laying on the floor. His black hair, it had gotten longer, curtained around his face. “Be quiet till I get you out,” he then disappeared again to, presumably, find a way to get Arthur out of the pit.

            The knight scowled upwards and put his hands on his hips, but had no other option but to wait. At least Merlin’s bossy attitude hadn’t been an act— _right. Because he’s a prince,_ Arthur reminded himself angrily. No wonder Merlin had been such a shit servant. Arthur had been at the mercy of the Prince of Sideria for years; he had mulled over battle plans and strategy with the enemy; he had shared wine and bread and his bed with someone he thought was a friend. His gut twisted as he remembered the night they shared at that tavern, how close he had come to saying things that felt like poison now.

XiiX

            When Merlin spun around after hushing the other prince he was face to face with his father’s corpse. They had just left him there, let him bleed out on his own throne room floor. Balinor’s eyes were open, still stricken with disbelief that he had been so betrayed. This was no way for his father to die.

            Merlin looked away and focused on gaining control of his emotions and his magic, which had returned in full force. He was brimming with it; hot, seething, volatile magic that crashed against his heart ache like two massive waves grinding together. His father wanted peace and Nimueh orchestrated his death to justify war. It made his blood boil.

            First, though, he needed to get Arthur freed. With full use of his magic again Merlin summoned some things from his room—a Siderian cloak and rope. He covered his father’s body quickly and silently promised to give him a proper burial later before turning back to Arthur. “Here,” he sniffed and fed the long length of the rope down while he tied the other end around his waist.

            Arthur squinted, “you mean to pull me up?” He did not sound convinced of this plan.

            “Just like old times,” Merlin answered carelessly and hoped his friend would recall the time he helped Arthur escape out his bedroom window.

            “Don’t,” Arthur barked harshly. “You don’t get to do that.” He can’t even look at the other man as he talks. It hurts too much to think about the good times when he knows it was all a lie. He took hold of the rope and gave an experimental tug. It didn’t budge. Maybe Merlin, _Emrys,_ was using magic to fortify his footing?

            Not for the first time Merlin doesn’t know what to say. He looks at his boots as he walks backwards while Arthur scaled the wall of the pit. Soon he saw a familiar large hand grip the floor, then another. Arthur planted both palms on the ground and pushed, using his arms to pull himself up and out. The display of strength reminded Merlin of one of the many reasons why he was so enamored and he looks away.

            The Siderian didn’t have a second to refocus, however, because as soon as Arthur was freed he rounded on Merlin again. “Morgana meant for me to kill you,” he said darkly, no preamble as he stalked around the throne room. He kept a safe distance between them and eyed Merlin suspiciously, never showing his back. “Is it true, are you immortal?” He looked Merlin up and down as if he didn’t recognize the person in front of him, as if Merlin were dangerous.

            “I don’t know,” the warlock answered honestly. He had never been sick a day in his life, and every injury that should have been fatal wasn’t. Could it be true, that he was immortal?

            “Am I really the only one that can kill you?” That had been the implication from Morgana— _the only person that can break your heart is also the only person who can kill you._ There was much to unravel about that one dangerous sentence, but right now Arthur could only tackle one issue at a time.

            “I don’t know,” he said again and felt powerless. Despite his wealth of magical prowess, Arthur had always made him feel weak.

            Arthur clenched his teeth and looked away; his fists were balled up at his sides. “What do you know? Obviously more than I do, since you’ve been lying to me and pulling the strings for three years!”

            “That’s not how it is,” he pleaded and tried to ignore the pitiful tug from his magic that was rotting from Arthur’s pain.

            “ _What_ is it then?” Arthur roared loud enough to make the hall echo and Merlin jumped back like he was frightened. A beat of silence spread between them until Arthur cursed and tried to reign in his anger. Merlin and Morgana had been playing games with him, dancing around while Arthur himself was in the dark and it made him see red. He clenched and unclenched his hands three times, looked to the ground and saw Balinor’s lifeless body covered in a rust-red cloak.

            Arthur remembers just hours ago Balinor was laughing in the courtyard with his daughter on his shoulders. He had a wife, _Hunith,_ and now he was dead. Some of the anger filtered out of Arthur’s body and without looking up he muttered, “I’m sorry about your father.” Even if he didn’t know who or what to believe right now, no one deserved to see their father murdered.

            Merlin’s throat hurt like he swallowed a chunk of glass. “He was the only one that believed in my stupid plan,” the sorcerer choked out and pressed the back of his wrist against his mouth. He thought he had control over this agony inside him, but maybe not. He didn’t have control over anything right now.

            “And what,” Arthur sighed and sounded so tired, “was that plan?”             

            His lips are twisted in a tight scowl, screwed shut to trap the sob squeezing his throat. Merlin pinches his eyes into slender slits, feels moisture there, but somehow reels it in enough to laugh in a heartbroken way, “help you become the Once and Future King and welcome magic back to Albion.” It sounded stupid, now.

            Again, Arthur remembers the fables Merlin told him by the camp fire last winter. It makes his heart ache with nostalgia because during that trip he had felt something in their dynamic change. He looked at Merlin differently afterwards, but Merlin had changed in a flash again today. “Do you really think I’m this person, this fairy tale King?”

            “I know you are,” Merlin smiles sadly. His eyes are red and watery and he wants to get away from his father’s rapidly cooling corpse. “I know you don’t trust me, but I never wanted to hurt you or Camelot.” He pinches his lips and shakes his head, trying to get a grip. Then he adds with a self-deprecating smirk, “gods know I had every opportunity.”

            Isn’t that the truth, Arthur thinks dangerously. If Merlin just wanted him dead he would probably _be_ dead and it’s apparent that Merlin did not plan for Kay to kill his father, or for Morgana to turn against them. He still didn’t trust this person standing in front of him, though. He only trusted that, right now, they had a common enemy. “Where are my men?”

           “I, I’m not sure. If…if they were on the courtyard during the announcement about…about my father, they were probably taken to the dungeons or…” killed there on the spot. He closed his eyes and tried not to think of his cousin Rhodor killing Leon.

 _“Emrys, you’re alive?”_ Archimedes’ panicked voice rings through Merlin’s head like a bell. He’s always had a pull toward the dragon, but now that connection ran deeper. He could also feel Archimedes _physically,_ and the dragon was nearby.

           “Art,” he said out loud and looked at Arthur excitedly. _“Where is my family?”_ Art wouldn’t let anything happen to his sisters, he was sure of it.

 _“I left them with Durraca. They’re hiding in the crystal caves.”_ As the dragon spoke telepathically Arthur appeared to grow more and more restless.

 _“Where are you?”_ He was trying to deduce Arts location. This was one of the powers of a Dragonlord, though this extension of power felt foreign to Merlin. He may not have full control of the Dragonlord gifts, yet.

            _“I’m with Lancelot, Gwen, and a few others. We’re in your bed chambers. Morgana couldn’t get past your wards.”_

Merlin sighed in relief, visibly relaxing enough that Arthur noticed and raised his brows. _“We’ll come to you.”_ The new Dragonlord tried to scan his awareness for Durraca, something he had never been able to do in the past. He found the other dragon and asked him to stay hidden with his surviving family, protect them at all cost. “Come on,” he finally said to Arthur. “I know where they are.”

XiiX

            Creeping through Dragons Keep with Arthur in tow made Merlin feel weirdly giddy. He wondered what life would have been like if he had just talked to Arthur on that last day he was in Camelot, instead of picking a fight. What would things have been like if he had told Arthur the truth a year ago? Would Arthur had helped him, would they have crept through the castle together, working seamlessly behind the scenes? He’ll never know, now.

            “I don’t understand why we have to sneak around in _your_ castle,” Arthur gripes with his back pressed against the stone wall while Merlin peers around the corner. “Aren’t these people loyal to you?”

            Merlin glares over his shoulder. “Most of Sideria has no clue what I actually look like because my parents were worried Uther would try to kill me when I was still a baby.” His words were like acid.

            Arthur opens his mouth to defend his father’s honor, but to what end? It was true. On his father’s orders, the Witch Finder had killed countless boys throughout years because they had birthdays around the assumed arrival of Emrys.

            “I grew up in hiding, mostly, and then I went to Camelot to find you around my 18th name day. Very few people here even know what the Dragonlords son looks like, plus…I’m not sure who to trust.” He looks reluctant then, but finally sighs and adds, “my father’s decision to avoid war with Camelot was not popular. If Nimueh and Morgause promised them battle…there’s a good chance leagues of Riders knew what was about to happen and supported the coup.” It was likely that _most_ of the Riders supported it, if Merlin was being honest with himself. Before she began training with Nimueh, Morgause served as a Rider and she had been well-respected. She could have turned a few heads and persuade many hearts. 

            “So, who can we trust?” The words fly out of Arthur’s mouth before he can think better of it and he hopes Merlin doesn’t read too much into the word _we_.

            “Well, Lancelot and Gwaine, for starters.” They dart into another hallway. They’re only a floor away from Merlin’s bedchambers. They need to get up a staircase and his room is just down the hall. “Stop,” he throws an arm back over Arthur’s chest to halt his movements.

            Arthur has half a mind to push the sorcerer away, but then he notices that there are men with swords standing a few yards away. He glances from them to Merlin and see’s unadulterated anger in blue eyes that had always been so kind and realizes that these men are not friends.

            Three Riders are guarding the staircase, only they were out of their traditional dress. The Siderian sigil had a black dragon over rust-red colors. These Riders were wearing a Triple-Goddess sigil, a full moon between two crescent moons, over a dark blue cloak. Merlin slit his eyes, _traitors._

            “Those are not my father’s colors,” Merlin explains quietly without turning to look at the blond knight. “We have to take that staircase to get to Gwen and the others.” He began to roll up his sleeves as if he was preparing to charge but Arthur snagged him back by the collar.

            “Are you mad?” He snarls in Merlin’s face, close enough he can count the individual hairs of his brow, and presses the other man back against the stone wall. For his part, the Siderian appears confused and allows himself to be man-handled by Arthur.  “I haven’t got a sword,” the knight points out and looks at Merlin like he’s slow. “I can’t take all three of them unarmed!”

            Merlin’s expression slid from confusion into an amused smirk, “oh, Arthur.”

            “I mean,” the knight continues on as if he hadn’t heard the other man and eyeballs the guards. “I’m good, but I’m not _that_ good.”

            “But I am,” Merlin insists and gently removes Arthur’s hand from his rumpled shirt. “Just stay back; I’ve got this.”

            Arthur watches with an open mouth as Merlin stands and approaches the three guards with nothing more but the clothes on his back. He thinks the man is crazy and braces himself to run in and—what? _Save him?_ Would he? Merlin had saved his skin more times than he can count, but he’s also been doing it with magic and lying behind his back.

           “Hey,” Merlin shouts and gets the attention of the three guards. He doesn’t recognize them, but this doesn’t surprise him. He never knew many of the Siderian Riders personally. They whip around, withdrawing their swords, and the one on the right has golden eyes. The first two jump forward with their blades drawn but Merlin pinches two fingers together and they sail into one another, their skulls colliding painfully before they collapse. The third man is simultaneously waving his sword and repeating a spell that Merlin recognizes as a defensive enchantment. The guard is using his sword offensively and his magic like a shield.

          Arthur watches from a safe distance away and feels useless and terrified, which just won’t do. He rolls forward and wrestles a sword out of the limp grasp of one of the fallen guards and stands beside Merlin.

          “A sorcerer protecting Arthur Pendragon,” the guard sneers as he holds his left palm up and holds his sword with his right. “You must be Prince Ambrosius.”

          “You betrayed your Dragonlord,” the warlock growls and Arthur notices that Merlin’s eyes are a burning gold and he doesn’t even have his arms raise. His shoulders are rolled back and he looks confident, powerful. He’s so unlike the unassuming servant that tripped over his own feet trying to keep up with Arthur. Did that person ever even exist?

          “Seeing you stand with the Son of Uther Pendragon makes me see that we made the right choice.” He stalks sideways and keeps his eyes on the other Siderian, all but ignoring Camelot’s Prince.

          Arthur looks between the two sorcerers and has no idea which way this will go. The guard has a sword _and_ magic, but Merlin looks like he’s in control. Just how powerful is he?  

          “Arthur is the Once and Future King,” Merlin insists and holds his ground.

          “He’s a Pendragon,” the Rider snaps. His sword arm tightens, and Arthur can see the change in posture as it happens. He’s preparing to strike and then he yells, “long live the Triple Goddess!” The guard swings his left palm in a wide arch, knocking Arthur back with the force of his magic but Merlin rebuffs the invisible attack with one of his own and the guard ends up pinned to the ceiling before Arthur catches his breath.

          “Bloody hell,” Arthur hisses from his vantage point on the floor as he looks up at the Rider stuck on the ceiling.

           “Come on,” Merlin says tightly and offers his hand to Arthur to support his rise from the floor.

           “You don’t have the guts to kill me, then?” The guard howls from above. “You’re just as soft as your father!” He’s pinned with his arms spread wide and his legs together. His sword is also stuck to the ceiling, flat and useless.

            Arthur stares at Merlin’s offered hand with wide eyes, throat working in poorly disguised fear.

           “Please,” Merlin sounds almost bashful and wiggles his fingers.

            Arthur looks from his former servant’s slender hands, they look soft,—and shouldn’t that have been a clue—to his eyes. They’re no longer gold, but still brilliant and bright, that familiar blue that he woke to every morning for over two years. He take’s Merlin’s hand. “What about him?” He motions up.  

            Merlin shrugs, “he’ll be fine there. He'll pass out from blood flow issues soon enough.” He sighs and moves as if to take the staircase, but Arthur has other ideas.

            “Where is the Lady Morgana?” He demands upward at the man pinned above him, still holding a sword in hand.  

            “The Maiden has left to be with the Mother and the Croon,” the guard says and his face is already starting to turn red. “You can’t stop them now. They’re marching toward Camelot as we speak. Kilgharrah plans to devour Uther himself.”

            Arthur grits his teeth and grips the pummel of the sword tighter. He thinks about running this spiteful sorcerer through and letting him bleed out on the ceiling—but Merlin tugs on his sleeve.

            “We have to get to Gwen and the others,” he reminds him gently and nods toward the staircase.

             At first it doesn’t look like Arthur wants to move, especially after the man pinned to the ceiling grins down at them, but he allows Merlin to pull him away toward the stairs.  

XiiX

            Guinevere wouldn’t stop pacing no matter how many times Lancelot pulled her to sit down at the large table in Merlin’s sitting room. Leon was no better, leaning against the stone wall near the door listening for anyone walking by.  

            “I should be looking for Arthur,” Leon made a fist and thumped it against the stone wall.

            “If he’s with Merlin, he’s safe.” Lancelot asserted earnestly; Gwen stopped pacing and Leon glared. The elephant, or in this case dragon, was in the room and everyone knew it. When Balinor was killed the dragons felt it immediately and went into a frenzy; they couldn’t sense Merlin and assumed he was dead, too. Before Nimueh could return to the party with the devastating news that Arthur and Kay had killed Balinor and Prince Ambrosius, Archimedes and Durraca were in motion. Durraca took Mapri, Hunith and her daughters around the mountainside and into hiding immediately. Archimedes, with Rhodor and Lancelot’s help, convinced Gwen and Leon to flee and were shuttled into the castle where they met Gwaine and Percival. It was Lancelot that told Leon and Gwen that the Siderian Prince was, in fact, Merlin, once they got into the Prince’s bedchamber.

            Since then, things have been tense.

            Lancelot stood in the middle of the room along the circular table, but not sitting. Leon was leaning against the door and Gwen was pacing between them. Gwaine was leaning near a window with Archimedes at his side. The traveling swordsman and dragon, despite their vastly different personalities, got along famously. Percival, who was not Siderian or from Camelot, waded around in the background by himself. He was here only because of Lancelot, and was not as emotionally invested in the personal turmoil surrounding them.

            Leon scoffed, “how can you say Arthur is safe with Merlin after all the deception you people—”

            “I won’t let you talk about my cousin like that,” Rhodor took a step toward Leon but luckily none of them had swords, as they had all been at a formal event when the news broke. “He surrendered his entire life, living like a common servant, all to protect a Kingdom that would have him killed just for breathing.”  

            “And what about Jasper and the others?” The tall knight hissed and raised his eyebrows. “Is Merlin protecting them, too?”

            It’s very unlikely that the other knights, the ones that came to Sideria as servants, survived and they all know it. Sideria was in an uproar. Without Balinor to temper the Rider’s ire or the dragon’s bloodlust, all Hell had broke loose. There was in-fighting among the Riders, an all-out civil war. Those that remain loyal to Balinor’s wishes were taking arms up against those that were now wearing the blue robes of the Triple Goddess.  

            Gwen remained silent as she looked between Leon and Rhodor and then back to Lancelot. “Is it true, Lance? Has Merlin really…been on our side this whole time?”

            Suddenly the entire room was looking at Lancelot. He was known for being honest to a fault and now this reputation put a burden on his shoulders. “I’ve known that Merlin has magic since I met him, and he’s always done what he can to protect Arthur and Camelot. I’ve seen him risk his life numerous times.” He looked directly at Leon, “I’ve never doubted his intentions.”  

            Leon grit his teeth. He didn’t like this one bit, but without a sword he wouldn’t make it far. He flattened his back against the wall next to the door and looked up at the ceiling, closing his eyes for a moment. That’s when he heard it.

_“Come on, my room’s this way.”_

Leon recognized Merlin’s voice, burdened with irritation toward Arthur, immediately. A second later the door sprang open. Merlin and Arthur walked in quickly, but slowed down once they realized everyone was staring at them. The sorcerer felt a flush run up his neck and stain his face and ears. Arthur scowled, angry that his emotions were being put on display like this and feeling like the fool.

             The blond prince cleared his throat and approached Leon and Gwen, “are you alright?”     

              Leon only nodded but Gwen spoke up, “we were all worried about you. When we heard about the Dragonlord and Prince…” she paused and looked toward the former servant.

              “Hey, Gwen,” Merlin says weakly and cringes. He had nightmares about situations similar to this during restless nights in Camelot when he thought about his friends discovering his true nature. This was easily one hundred times worse.

              Archimedes fluttered away from Gwaine at that moment and went to Merlin’s shoulder. “Where is Morgause and Nimueh?”

              “I think they’re with Morgana on their way to Camelot,” he answered loud enough for the entire room to hear and Leon gave Arthur a grim look. “They…they tried to have Arthur kill me. I’m sure they assume I’m dead.”

               Archimedes slits his reptilian eyes at the blond knight and Arthur scowls back as if to say _well, I didn’t do it._  

               “We need to stop them before they get to Camelot,” Lancelot states the obvious.

                Leon, though, shakes his head, “we? There’s only nine of us, eight if you don’t count Gwen, against an army of dragons and how can we even trust half of you? Merlin could be in on this for all we know.”

                Arthur’s eyes darted toward Rhodor and Merlin and distrust saturated the space yet again. There were clear alliances forming in different corners of the room. Leon and Arthur on one side, Merlin, Archimedes, and Rhodor on another, and Gwen, Lancelot, Gwaine, and Percival in the middle.  Then, Merlin stepped away from Rhodor, Art fluttering backwards in the process, and approached Arthur who was standing near the round table.

                His eyes are downcast, on his own feet. “I’m the Dragonlord now,” he looks up with profound sadness in his eyes but a calm voice. “I knew one day I’d be in this position and I hoped—” he winces, and the regret is so obvious the room has gone dead silent.

                Meanwhile, Arthur has tensed awkwardly, clearly uncomfortable with the totally vulnerable way Merlin is talking to him. He wished they were alone again, as loaded as this moment has become it feels terribly private, but all eyes are on them.

                “I had hoped,” Merlin repeated with a big breath, “that we could have been friends but it’s more important that we’re allies now, and I’ll do anything to make you believe me.” With that, Merlin goes down on his knees in front of Arthur.

               The entire room is watching the sorcerer’s display of fidelity and Arthur is holding his breath.

               “I’m the _Dragonlord_ , Arthur,” he reminds the room all while looking into his master’s eyes and this feels as natural as breathing. “I’m also swearing myself to you, and Camelot, because you’re _my_ King.”

               Arthur’s blue eyes are darting around, now totally unable to pay any attention to the room that is waiting for his response. He doesn’t feel worthy of this, somehow. He fights the urge to take a step back, or to bark at Merlin to stand up, but before he can think of a response Archimedes is joining Merlin on the ground.

                “I’ve been watching you for a long while, son of Uther,” the dragon sounds suspiciously wary but then lightly bows his head, too. “I didn’t believe it at first, and was probably your biggest critic….but Emrys is correct. You are the Once and Future King.”

                “The Once and Future King,” Rhodor agrees and goes down onto his knees as well.

                 Percival speaks up, surprising everyone. “I came to Sideria to help Lancelot protect women and children on their journey here to find safety. I don’t want to live in a kingdom that would allow the killing of innocents…” he paused, and everyone could read between the lines. _Camelot created this reality. Arthur, accept some responsibility, here._ “Even though my house is sworn to Camelot, I stayed in Sideria because Balinor promised to end the war peacefully. I still believe that is possible and if you do, too, you will have my service, if you want it.” He also went down to his knees.

                 Gwaine remains standing with hard eyes and Arthur can already tell he has not won over the vagabonds trust. “If Merlin believes in you, that’s good enough for me,” he sniffs and goes down as well.

                 Lastly, Leon, Lancelot, and Gwen join the others and Arthur is surrounded by fathomless allegiance that he isn’t sure he deserves right now. He doesn’t even have enough sense to order them to their feet, but Merlin stands first and goes to the large, circular table.    
  
                 “We need a plan,” he says and that is something Arthur can focus on. The sorcerer and prince sit, and the others follow.  
  
  
                                                                                                                         XiiX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) From here on out I reference the Triple Goddess as both a singular deity and as a way to identify Morgana, Morgause, and Nimueh. Here is a site that I found helpful in educating myself about it www.crystalinks.com/triplegoddess.html where you can also view an example of the symbol.  
> 2) Thank you for the reviews, especially those of you that have recently encouraged my butt to update. I explained myself in the next chapters end notes...


	9. Dear Daughter and Loyal Son

Chapter Eight: Dear Daughter and Loyal Son

Morgana returns to Camelot and Arthur begins to embrace the destiny Merlin is so convinced is real.

Rating: Mature

Warnings: My chapter length is getting out of control, I put that in the original warnings, ok? Otherwise, mentions to burned bodies, Arthur and Merlin working things out bit by bit, jumping scene’s.  
Words: 5017

  
  
XiiX

_  
Camelot, within the castle_

            Uther is dressed in full armor and chainmail, heavy sword at his hip, and prepared for the war that he has planned for two decades. Before him is a map of the terrain between Camelot and Sideria, and he looms over the table possessively, fists balled up against the polished wood. Beside him King Horvath sits, though he is not dressed in armor or chainmail.

            “Do not look so tense, Uther. Our plan is flawless and we will have word from our boys any day now.” The King from Kent sipped from a goblet, feeling leagues more comfortable than Uther.

            Camelot’s King didn’t respond, though. Instead he straightened his back and walked toward the window, facing toward the battle front though he cannot see it from here. An uneasy feeling settled in his gut a he glares out of the window. Uther scowls before looking down at his hands, twisting the Pendragon crest on his ring finger. Tinkering with his ring sometimes helped him think, but today it offered him little comfort. When he looked up again it felt as if a sheet of ice formed around his heart. “What the devil is that,” he outcries suddenly and starts shouting for the guards to ring the alarm. “Dragon! There’s a dragon approaching!” The men standing guard around the throne room fly out, dashing toward the alarms and the armory.

            “What should we do?” King Horvath staggers to his feet, backing away from the windows as best he can.

            Before Uther can answer, a shrill laughter fills the hall. There are no guards remaining, and Uther and Horvath snap their heads in the direction of the noise.

            “Nimueh?” Uther accuses at a shrouded figure behind his very own throne as it approaches, moving out of the darkness.

            “Oh no father, it’s me! It’s your dear daughter, Morgana.” Somehow, she had changed in the short time she had been away. Her usually silky hair had grown more voluptuous, wild, and there is no color in her face. Her gown, which is not one Uther remembers ever being in her wardrobe, is black and layered over in lace, moth-eaten and riddled with holes.

            “Morgana,” Uther already sounds hurt and confused and it makes the girls blood sing. “Why aren’t you with Arthur?”

            “Hmm,” Morgana hums as she takes smooth, predatory steps toward the older man. “That is so like you, demanding answers when you’re unwilling to answer any yourself.”

            As she continues her approach, King Horvath decides to bolt for the door but is instead smashed into the wall with a wave of Morgana’s slender arm. He collides against the stone wall with enough force to rattle him, though not to render him unconscious. Morgana frowns like a disappointed child, clearly still working out her own strength. Horvath lays on the floor, eyes blurry and dazed, bleeding from the head.

           “For instance, _Uther,_ all those time I asked about my parents. You never told me the truth, not once.” Her eyes are hard, intense, as she rounded toward him.

           Uther had one hand on the sword at his hip, though to his credit he had not withdrawn it yet. “Morgana, you’re using magic,” even now he sounds betrayed—as if he is blameless. He keeps in step with the witch, until they walk around each other in a full circle and Uther has his back to the throne and Morgana is standing in the center of his court.

           “I am a priestess of the Old Religion, like Nimueh, like my sister Morgause,” she corrects quickly and flings Uther backwards until he is sitting in his throne, pinned. “I met my mother,” she hisses and approaches the trapped king. She grips the arms of the chair and shoves her face close to Uther’s, near enough that she can admire the whites of his eyes. “She told me about how you took privileges with her while her husband was away. She told me that Sir Gorlois could not be my father because I was sired while he was off killing sorcerers on your orders, even though he knew about my mother’s magic and loved her anyway. She told me that you kept her prisoner here until she had no choice but to flee with my sister.” Her voice was a nasty little whisper, lip curling in a snarl.

          “Morgana, I—”

          “I hate you! You took everything from me,” the witch accuses, “and you gave Arthur everything. Your name, your kingdom, your approval, and even your blind hatred of magic.” Morgana paused and pulled back just a fraction. She can see the grief in the old man’s face, see the tears well up in his eyes. “I will kill Arthur,” she promises and plucks the crown off his head before pushing away from the fallen King, who is still pinned to his throne by her magic.

          “Morgana, please!” He strains against the invisible bonds, but is held fast. He stops thrashing a moment later when he hears a terrible roar, it’s very clearly not human, and then a great booming crash from above. He looks up but is unable to cover his head with his own arms as Kilgharrah rips the roof off the throne room from above with his massive claws. Stone and rubble tumble down, destroying the table and chairs until Camelot’s throne room looks like a waste land. The dragon sinks his massive head down with the castle falling all around, and captures Uther. 

XiiX

 _Sideria, within Merlin's Chambers_          
   
            They finally agreed on splitting into three groups. Arthur, Merlin and Archimedes are going back to Camelot together, while Leon, Gwaine, Lancelot, and Gwen are going to follow on horseback. Rhodor and Percival are going to stay in Sideria to support those that are fighting the usurpers in blue cloaks. It took some arguing all around to agree to this plan. Leon was clearly still unsure about setting Arthur off with a dragon and the Siderian Dragonlord, but Arthur was insistent that he wanted to get to Camelot as soon as possible. The fastest way to do that was by dragon, and Art could only carry two people at a time.

           There was also a brief but tense argument around what Gwen should do. Merlin tried to convince her to go into the caves with Durraca and his surviving family, where she would be best protected. Lancelot was quick to second that idea, until Gwen crossed her arms and stared down the room full of warriors. “I’m a daughter of Camelot _and_ a blacksmith. Give me a sword and I can defend my home as well as the rest of you.”

           Arthur felt a flush of admiration run up his neck as he watched Guinevere announce her intent. It reminded him of why he fell in love with her, but something had changed. Maybe they should have talked about it…this shift in their relationship…but now wasn’t the right time. “On that note,” he looked away and cleared his throat, “we’ve only got three swords from the guards Merlin took out earlier.”

           “The armory is on the other side of the castle,” Rhodor admits reluctantly.

           “We don’t have that much time,” Merlin shakes his head and looks sorrowfully at his cousin and the others. He loathes the idea of leaving them without a means to defend themselves, but Arthur would need a weapon once they got to Camelot and they needed to leave as soon as possible. That left two swords between Rhodor, Leon, Gwaine, Lancelot, Percival and Gwen until they got to the armory.

           “I’ve got a sword,” Gwen speaks up again and all eyes go to her. “It’s in my room, just down the hall. I brought it because…” she looks cautiously at Arthur. “I told Morgana that we could run away, if she didn’t want to go through with the marriage. I figured we could sell it and get pretty far.”

           “I’ll go get it,” Merlin offered and before anyone could argue he went out to the hall and disappeared.

           While Merlin was away Gwen addressed the other gash in Arthur’s heart: Morgana. “Why is Morgana working with Nimueh?”

           The prince scowls. He wants to deny it. He doesn’t want to believe that Morgana, someone he grew up with and considered family, had turned against them. It was hard not to see it that way, though. She left him in a pit with Merlin, and tried to get them to kill each other. She also called him _brother._

           “I don’t know. Maybe it’s Morgause, maybe they’re tricking her…”

           Just then Merlin came bounding into the room carrying a slim wooden box across his chest. “Gwen,” he says as he walks the box toward the table and sets it down with reverence. “Where did you get this sword?”

           “It’s the best sword my father ever crafted,” she answered slowly, not sure why it mattered. “It was meant to be a gift for the king, why?”

            “I think it was always meant for Arthur,” he sounds breathless.

            “What?” Arthur asks and peers around Merlin’s lithe form to look at the sword laid out on the table. He staggers when he sees it, though, feels like the earth under his feet is suddenly unsteady. He recognizes this sword. The grip is sturdy, wrapped in gold and brown leather and the pommel has a heavy, regal gold knob on it. Without touching it he can tell the blade is perfectly balanced, and it calls to him. He _knows_ this sword; it’s the same sword Merlin describe in that silly fairy tale all those months ago. “That’s—”

            “ _Excalibur”_ –both Merlin and Arthur say together, and the rest of the room is lost, except for Archimedes.

            “It’s not Excalibur yet,” the dragon corrects lightly.

            “What?” Arthur turns his head away from the sword.

            Meanwhile Gwaine rolls his eyes. “Yes, what. What the hell are you all talking about?” For once, Lancelot inclines his head in a way that means he actually agrees with the brash knight.

            “I’ve seen this sword in my visions of the future. Its name is Excalibur, and it symbolizes his right to the throne to all of Albion,” Merlin explains with a giddy smile that everyone else finds misplaced.

            “Oh, right, of course,” Gwaine gripes. “It all makes sense now.”

            “What did you mean, it’s not Excalibur, yet?” Arthur addresses Archimedes.

            The dragon tilts his head curiously before answering. “Excalibur must be reforged in dragon fire, with magic.”

             Arthur looked from the sword to Merlin. It was clear that the implication was a unity with magic. “A normal sword would do just as well in a real fight,” Arthur answered gruffly and looked away from his former servant. Future King or not, he wasn’t ready to commit his sword to sorcery. “Let’s go, I need to get back to Camelot. Leon, I trust you to lead.” The first knight nodded and clasped his Prince by the forearm.

               “What are the Dragonlords orders?” Rhodor asked, giving Merlin a slanted glance as if to remind him that it was actually his duty to make these decisions now.

               It was evident that Merlin was vastly uncomfortable being addressed as the Dragonlord as he sputtered, “In my absence Mapri is in charge.”

               “A wise decision,” Archimedes chortled and those in the room that were familiar with the old witch shuddered.

XiiX

               The Prince and Dragonlord left through Merlin’s bedroom window with Archimedes hovering outside so that they could climb onto his back. Merlin jumped through the open widow and straddled the dragon with practiced ease. When he grinned back at Arthur, who gripped the window frame with white knuckles, it was easy to imagine a teenaged Merlin sneaking out of his bedroom past curfew and it made Arthurs stomach twist.

               “It’s safe,” the Siderian encouraged patiently.

               “Shut up, Merlin,” Arthur hissed and shifted his feet as if he would leap, but then thought better of it.

               “Come on princess,” Gwaine shouted. “I’m sure Merlin would catch you if you fell.”

               “Gwaine,” both Merlin and Arthur snapped and everyone ignored the fact that it wasn’t the first time today the two men spoke in-tandem. But, Gwaine must have been just annoying enough because in the next second Arthur launches himself out of the window and throws himself onto Archimedes back.

               “I can’t believe I’m on a bloody dragon,” Arthur curses just loud enough for Art and Merlin to hear.

               “Good luck!” Gwen shouts from the window. “Be safe!”

               “We’ll see you in Camelot, sire,” Leon tilts his head and his eyes are hard, serious. Gwaine, Lancelot, and Percival look equally menacing and Arthur knows that these men (and Gwen) would fight to the death to protect Camelot.

               “Hold on,” Archimedes warns and beats his wings with more force, taking them away from the stone pillars of High Tower and across the mountainous landscape. Arthur startles and he is forced to grab hold of Merlin who, for some reason, appears to have more stability. The thunderous clap of Archimedes’ massive wings is impossibly louder up close like this and the high altitude-air is frigid against his skin, but Arthur admits to himself that this is like nothing else. He is on a _dragon._

Merlin feels Arthur grip him from behind and tries to act natural—though he is at a loss for what that might be right now. He has sworn himself to Arthur, which felt both unnecessary and profound. He had always belonged to Arthur, and there was a time when they both knew it. Were they friends or allies? Merlin soured when he remembered that Arthur refused to have Excalibur touched by magic—but now he was squeezing Merlin around the middle, icy fingers digging into his tunic and chest warm and firm against his back. “This isn’t what I wanted, I just want you to know that.” Merlin admits abruptly.

               At first, Arthur doesn’t know if he wants to answer that. They hadn’t been able to settle much while they were within the castle. Other things had been more pressing—get out of the pit, find the others, develop a plan, save Camelot.  Now, though, they were trapped together with nothing but their own loaded silence between them while Archimedes brought them closer to an unknown threat. Arthur let the words settle and the more he thought about it, the angrier he got. “You keep saying that, that this isn’t what you wanted, but as far as I can see you were the only one making decisions.”

               The rebuttal smacks Merlin in the face. “It’s not like that—”

               “Then what is it like? You were the only one with choices, this whole time. Every day we were together…every moment, you had choices. The rest of us just had to go along with whatever madness you decided on.”

              “You make it sound like I organized this master plan, or that having to make all those choices was simple.” Luckily, Archimedes could not readily hear them. It was easy to forget that the dragon was present as the wind ripping past their heads caused a great deal of noise—the illusion of privacy.

               Arthur had to tightened his thighs as the dragon curved slightly and the two men were forced to lean into one another. “was it easy killing Mordred?” The Prince realizes he sounds a bit like Morgana. He also feels like he’s just stabbed the Siderian through the heart and twisted the knife.

            Merlin’s eyes sting with pain and they are still pressed together out of necessity. “No,” he jerks around then and looks the other man in the eye, their faces close enough that they’re nearly touching.  “It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done but my biggest regret was letting you think it was your fault. I’m sorry, Arthur.”

               “Why did you leave?”

               And that takes all of the air out of Merlin’s lungs because that’s not the question he expected right now. It sounds too much like _why didn’t you stay, why didn’t you tell me, why didn’t you trust me, don’t you regret that?_

There is vulnerability all over both of their faces and Merlin doesn’t answer for several seconds. Arthur stares him down, though, waiting for an answer. It still feels like the most important question, even after everything that’s happened. He remembers the day he looked for Merlin and couldn’t find him. The sadness threatens to choke him again.  In some ways, it feels like his friend is still missing.

               Merlin could say that Balinor had called him home, forced him to leave without saying goodbye. He could say that there were more important things at stake. That would be true, but it wouldn’t be honest. “I was afraid.”

               “Of the pyre?” They both know what that means for Arthur, that Merlin thinks the Prince would let him burn.

               Merlin is still twisted around, and Arthur’s hands that were loosely wrapped around his middle have slid to Merlin’s hips. “No…not the pyre, or the noose, or axe, or dungeons. I was afraid you’d hate me. You do hate me,” he smiles in self-deprecation and it breaks, fragile little thing.

               “Why would that matter?” Arthurs voice has dropped, and his eyes are drifting between the sliver of a frown over Merlin’s wobbling mouth and back to his eyes. “Why would you care if I hate you?”

               Merlin inhales raggedly and blinks back the moisture in his eyes. “You’re my friend and the Once and—” he rattles off answers that are true but not honest until the other man has enough.

               “No. More. Lies.” Arthur growls and pushes his face closer, threatening the Dragonlord in midair with clenched teeth.

               Merlin closes his eyes in defeat. Arthur knows. He knows. It seems silly, in retrospect, that this would be a harder blow than Arthur discovering his magic in the worst possible way, but it is. It was the one thing Merlin wanted to keep to himself—one shard of a broken heart that he didn’t want smashed into pieces. Fate was never so kind. “How long have you known—”

               “How long have I known what?” The Prince asks harshly. It’s a bad habit of his to cut others off when he’s angry, and for some reason Arthur is furious right now.

               The Siderian opens his eyes and considers leaping off Archimedes back. “Don’t make me say it,” he begs. “Don’t be cruel, please.”

               Arthur considered letting it pass. He could drop it and allow this moment to fall into obscurity. They hadn’t named it yet. They could forget this specific thread of conversation. “Why do you care so much about what I think of you,” he asks again. This was too important to remain ambiguous. There was some vicious impulse ringing through his veins that made Arthur want to pick at this wound. Merlin hurt him with his secrecy and dishonestly…and maybe now Arthur was seeking some revenge.  

               Merlin’s shoulders slump and it feels like he has crumbled against Arthur’s wider chest behind him. He realizes he won’t deny his friend this, if he can help it he’ll never lie to Arthur again. “Because I love you. I’m in love with you,” he answers quietly with his eyes focused to the side, staring off into endless sky. In a way, he feels relieved. He has no more secrets weighing down his heart. “I didn’t want you to know…but I guess you figured it out.”

               He had figured it out, but hearing Merlin speak the words was still nearly unbearable. “Is this a part of your destiny, the prophecy or whatever you think it is?”

               Merlin snaps his head up. That’s not the follow up response he was expecting. “I don’t know. There’s nothing in the prophecy that says that I was destined to…” he can’t bring himself to say it again. “When we first met I really thought you were an ass and I only protected you out of duty to my people. I thought you would be the one to save us. It changed, though, I’m not sure when exactly. Maybe it was fate working to keep me devoted to you, maybe not. I don’t know.”

               Forcing Merlin to admit his feelings wasn’t nearly as satisfying as Arthur had hoped it would be. The young Dragonlord shifted and faced forward again, clearly sulking in his own misery but unable to escape Arthur at the moment. They were stuck together, no matter how angry Arthur was or how heartbroken Merlin becomes—they were bound right now, maybe forever if Arthur had to believe this nonsense about prophecies.  He looks down at the beautiful sword on his hip, _Excalibur,_ or…the sword that could be Excalibur if he agreed to allow Merlin to forged it with magic and dragon fire.

Merlin loves him; Arthur has known this for a long time. Maybe at first, he didn’t assume it was very different from the way he loves Leon—brotherly, knightly bond—but it became clear as time went on that it was more. Leon didn’t blush when Arthur paid him a compliment or find any excuse to be near the Prince at all times. Arthur might not have noticed the magic, but he would have been truly daft to miss the love that Merlin had for him.

               But that doesn’t mean he can trust Merlin. Love does not afford trust, and Arthur can’t afford to make any more mistakes. After all, Morgana surely loved him at one time and she intends to have them both killed.

               His thoughts are disrupted as Merlin curses and leans forward, “are those Camelot’s forces?” He asks with genuine concern in his voice as they glide over the remains of a battlefield scourged into the earth below.

               “No,” Arthur admits grimly. “This is what remains of Kent’s army. Once…once we delivered the Eancanah crystal Kent’s soldiers were going to raid Sideria.” He was ashamed to admit it now, but it was the truth.

               “You were having second thoughts,” Merlin said in Arthurs defense. It was still a knee-jerk reaction for Merlin to see the best in him, and that makes Arthur feel unworthy. “I know you didn’t want to go to war with Sidera."

               The truth is he hadn’t wanted to go to war, but he also didn’t do anything to stop it. He remembers thinking, _if Merlin were still here he would talk me out of this_. Arthur had known what the right thing was, but he wasn’t able to get there without his friend to help guide the way. “It doesn’t matter now…Kay and his army have been destroyed and Nimueh is on her way to Camelot, or already there.” Arthur feels sick with the thought that he could return home to find it like this scorched battle ground.

               “You know that Morgana is working with them, don’t you?” Merlin cautions carefully.

               “She’s being manipulated, or tricked,” he defended her immediately. Denial was a powerful thing.

               “She tried to have you kill me and left you in a pit to take over Camelot,” he reminded sternly. “She’s been planning this for months, I think since Morgause came to Camelot.”

                “She called me brother,” he phrases it like an accusation.

               Merlin sighed, “I didn’t know for sure until I returned to Sideria…but it’s true. Uther is her father.”

               The prince feels betrayed all over again, but it is his father who has wronged him this time. When he and Morgana were young teens it was court gossip that they would marry, and Uther found it amusing. He even encouraged it, on a few occasions when Arthur outwardly admired Morgana’s growing beauty. Luckily, the spark between them fizzled out before it could really grow—but Uther had allowed it while it lasted. He hid this from them and disowned Morgana.

               “When we get to Camelot, they’ll try to kill us both. We stand in their way. If they win, we both lose our homes to blood thirsty tyrants.”

               Arthur looks down at the sword on his hip again. Morgause, Nimueh, Morgana, and Kilgharrah waited for them in Camelot. He couldn’t expect Merlin and Archimedes to fight all of them alone. “Stop,” he shouted loud enough for Archimedes to actually hear him.

               The dragon craned his head back to look at them, but did not lower himself yet.

               “What is it?” Merlin twisted around again.

               “Stop, bring us to the ground. I’m going to need Excalibur, the real Excalibur.” He wouldn’t spell it out, he wouldn’t.

               “Ok,” Merlin agreed gently, and Archimedes must have felt the sorcerer’s intent or overheard more than they thought because he began to glide down until they were in the moors of the Perilous Lands, nearly to Camelot’s boarder. Luckily, no smoke could be seen billowing into the sky from the south. They would take that as a good sign.

               Merlin swung down from Archimedes back with a grace that Arthur rarely saw from the clumsy man and rounded out in front of the dragon. Arthur followed, though he didn’t move quite as quickly. He moved gingerly across Archimedes back and the dragon smirked over his shoulder, as if he could sense that Arthur was trying to be polite.

               “How do we do this?” The blond Prince asked as he withdrew the sword on his hip.

               “To be honest, I’m not entirely sure. I’ve never done it,” he glanced up at Archimedes for support.

               Despite the fact that Archimedes enjoyed acting wise and weathered, he was less than thirty years old himself. Compared to other dragons, he was still a babe. “I’ve heard Durraca talk about it. He forged the blade Balinor’s father used, and Balinor inherited it when your grandfather passed.” That sword was now in Morgause’s hands. “Someone with strong magic must hold the blade while I ignite it with my flames. If the person holding the blade has weak magic, the flames will burn through the sword and kill who ever holds the blade, but that shouldn’t be a problem for you, Emrys.”

               “Is that it?” Arthur asked, as if he was surprised that’s all it took to make such an impressive sword.

               “Essentially yes, but it will take nearly all of my power to do it. I’m still young, Merlin. This is a task better suited for older dragons. Perhaps you should ask Durraca.” He admitted and looked as apologetic as Merlin had ever seen him.

               “We’ll do it together, my magic and your fire,” the Dragonlord encouraged.

               Archimedes did not answer right away.

               “What is it?” Merlin pushed, feeling that there was something his friend was not saying.

               “I know that it was meant for Arthur…but we do not create dragon breath swords lightly. They are a sign of unity, for one. These swords take on the spirit of magic itself and it will judge you, Arthur. If you are ever not worthy, it will reject you. It will also be much more powerful than any mortal blade…” he explained reluctantly.

               “You mean it could kill a Priestess of the Old Religion,” he assumes. At first Arthur thinks the dragon is cautioning him about using it against Morgana.

               “It could kill me,” Merlin answers without an ounce of dread. “That’s why you don’t want to do it,” he guesses.

               Archimedes looks away. “I will if you desire it, but I wanted you to be aware. Morgana was partially right in what she saw. Arthur is the only one that can kill you, but only because he is the only one that can wield Excalibur. She just was not aware of the sword.”

               There was something poetic in that. Merlin could only die by the sword he forged with his own magic and dragon’s breath—but he wanted Arthur to have it. “Give me the sword,” he said without looking the Prince in the eye.

               Arthur hesitated for a moment, as he fully understood what Archimedes had explained, but he handed it over without a word and watched as Merlin raised it above his head.

               “Stand back, Arthur,” he cautioned softly, and the other man took generous steps back so that he would be clear from the dragon’s flames.

               “ _Archimedes_ ,” Merlin bellowed and at once realized he was effortlessly speaking the dragon’s language. “ _Breathe life into this blade and it will be known as Excalibur!”_

               The dragon mounted his two front feet atop a large bolder and his neck coiled back like a snake about to strike. When he arched his massive back fire rolled forward, crashing against the sword like waves on the ocean. Merlin’s magic curled upwards from his feet and pushed out, glowing a beautiful blue to meet the oncoming force from the fire and the two energies collided on the steel, tempering it for several seconds.

               From yards away, Arthur watched and felt the overwhelming heat from dragon’s fire and the eerie presence—power—that must have been Merlin’s magic. He had never felt anything like this before.

               Merlin suddenly yelled as Archimedes flames reached their peak and Arthur thought maybe the sorcerer had gotten burned, but then Excalibur flew upwards out of the Dragonlords hands and when it came back down, blade first, it cut into the stone between Archimedes clawed feet.  

               None of them spoke, they didn’t have to ask if it worked. They could feel it. The sword had a presence now, almost as if it was alive. Arthur didn’t ask for permission or direction as he walked up to the sword in the stone and wrapped his hand around the hilt. He could see how tightly it was embedded in the thick stone, and that the blade sliced into the rock like a hot knife through butter. He pulled up with one arm and the blade slid free, easy as breathing, out of the stone and into the air.

XiiX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter our hero's go to battle and we finally see some serious show downs 
> 
> I want to apologize for not updating as much as I should. I have NO intention to abandon this series. Its been my brain child for years and I will see it completed, I promise. It may take much longer than any of us want, but I will wrap everything up. The truth is I have a really stressful day job (I investigate child abuse) and often times I come home mentally and emotionally tapped. I don't know about you guys, but I have trouble doing any creative writing when I'm wiped out, and that's what's been biting my writing-spirit in the ass. 
> 
> Thanks for the love and support in the comments and kudos <3 you guys rock


	10. Camelot's Long Night

Chapter Nine: Camelot’s Long Night

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Gory death, Cruelty/Torture, Evil!Kilgharrah, my bad attempts at using foreign languages to makes spells and such

Words: 5177

 

XiiX

_Camelot_

Arthur has always been able to identify his boarder, and he knew it as soon as they crossed into Camelot’s territory just before sunset. One full day had passed since his entire world had changed; this time last night he was following behind _Prince Ambrosius_ on their way to the celebration of Morgana’s engagement. They had not slept or rested, but since he lifted Excalibur, reborn from Archimedes flames and Merlin’s magic, Arthur has felt rejuvenated. Determination has settled in his heart. He would not let Camelot meet the same fate as Kent’s men. “We should be able to see the castle, soon,” he announced to the others and Archimedes brought them lower, just under the clouds. The prince pressed himself along Merlin’s back to look over his shoulder, scanning the horizon as they met it. He was looking for smoke and prayed that he wouldn’t see it darkening Camelot’s skies.

            They saw no smoke on their approach, but it appeared that Camelot may have met a worse fate than fire. A concentrated storm loomed over the castle; swollen rain clouds hung like a hang-man’s noose above the towers and angry lightning ripped through the atmosphere, landing on the battered stone of the castle. The Citadel was largely untouched, but the castle itself had sustained damage. At the highest point of the crumbling remains stood three figures, with arms outstretched toward the sky. Beyond the reach of the clouds, scattered just away from the lightening and rain, all eighteen dragons circled the castle from above. It was almost hypnotic, the way they rounded on the kingdom as if she were a wounded beast and they were the scavengers waiting for it to die.

            Arthur sees no slain men littering the streets and no pillage homes of his people—but he can see his army standing below, outside the castle grounds in the Citadel. A sea of red cloaks crowd around the entrance, attempting to beat down the doors, but some of them notice Archimedes approaching and crane their heads up. Some point and scream, terrified and unable to see the Prince. Arthur thinks of his father, and the smashed castle before him. He shouts to the men below, “Where is the king?” but his words are drowned out from the rain, and thunder, and lightening, and the cacophony of a legion of dragons beating their wings.  “What the hell has happened?” He asks more quietly, fearing that he is already too late to save his home.

            “I’m not sure,” Merlin answers grimly. He can feel that this is no natural storm. The witches must have called it, and with powerful magic. He needed to stop whatever it was that they were trying to accomplish before it was too late.

            “Emrys, this storm…it’s calling to me.” Archimedes warns carefully, and he rears back just slightly, as if afraid to travel much closer.

            “What do you mean it calls to you?” Merlin demands over the boom of another clap of thunder. Lighting scorches the earth below as the bizarre storm clouds swirl ominously and the land grows darker.

            Instead of answering, Archimedes groans distractedly and dips up as if to join the others circling the storm. He pays no attention to the violent electricity lighting up the sky around them and drives in closer.

            “Hey,” the sorcerer outcries as they are jerked higher, but the dragon ignores him. _“To the ground!”_ Merlin orders, privately beside himself at the unrecognizable voice rolling out of his mouth as he exercises the dragon call again—but it works. Without responding Archimedes veers downward, gliding over the heads of the sizable Camelot army below.

            “Are you going to handle this?” Merlin asks over his shoulder, referring to the army of men shifting their focus from the castle toward Archimedes, swords and spears ready.

             Arthur begins hollering immediately, “stand down! I order you to stand down!” He leaps off Archimedes and approaches a line of soldiers who recognize him on sight and quickly lower their weapons.

             While Arthur provides a few military leaders with what must be the most convoluted excuse for his arrival via dragon-back, Merlin turns to Archimedes. “Art, what’s going on?” He worries that this storm that the witches have called forth will allow them to control the dragons—he could feel how commanding Archimedes alone took a toll on his strength. He isn’t sure he could manage to command all of them, including Kilgharrah.

             “It’s the lights from the storm, in the eye.” The center of the storm contained three slim pillars of light, the same that he assumed Morgause, Nimueh, and Morgana were standing under. It was the apex of the other dragon’s focus, and they circled it carefully. “The light is as compelling as the dragon’s call,” he shudders, fighting the pull toward the storm.

            “I want you to leave,” Merlin states abruptly, as if he didn’t think too hard on the matter. If this storm can control dragons, Archimedes would only be in the way, or worse. He might be turned into an enemy.

            “What, no! I won’t leave you,” he refuses immediately even as he eyes the storm longingly.

             “I’m sorry, Art.”  He apologizes but then orders the dragon to leave in his next breath. It is immediately clear that he has made the right choice because Archimedes eyes glaze over and he appears entranced as he rises into the air. Merlin recites the order several times for him to leave Camelot and return to Sidera at once.

            When Archimedes is far into the air and heading north, Merlin refocuses his eyes to Arthur. Behind the Prince, the entire army is standing with their mouth agape. Apparently, they were having a hard time digesting the news about Merlin’s heritage. “Right,” he chirps and rocks up on his toes with his arms crossed at his back awkwardly while facing an entire army.

            The motion was so familiar, it shot through Arthur like a spear. Merlin still looked like _Merlin_ even after having a stern conversation with a bloody dragon. He was still nervous and unsure, too thin but deceivingly strong, and stupidly loyal. The realization took the wind out of him.

            “He’s really a sorcerer?” One of the soldiers ask from behind Arthur, and the Prince cringes.

            Merlin scowls, unsure of how to approach. It might not be safe, but they don’t have time for pleasantries. If he had to wait for an entire army to warm up to him, Nimueh would turn this place to ash. “Where is the King?” He asked and took even steps forward. Later, he might congratulate himself on sounding so confident.  

            “King Uther and King Horvath were in the throne room when the Great Dragon attacked,” one of the soldiers responded slowly. He was eyeing Merlin cautiously.

            “Has anyone seen…. the witches yet?” The Dragonlord was careful not to implicate Morgana in front of Camelot’s army yet.  

            “No,” Arthur answered before the others. Apparently, he had already asked that question himself.

             Merlin looked up toward the storm above the castle with a frown. “Do you see those three,” he pointed toward the center of the storm. He can feel the dark magic snapping in the air just like the lighting. “They’re here. They’re the ones that called this storm, not the dragons. The dragons are being controlled by this storm, I’m sure of it. They don’t want me to be able to command them to our side.”

              Some muttering took place behind Arthur. Clearly, some of them were surprised to hear him describe his allegiance with Arthur. The Prince did not seem disturbed.

              Merlin was sure that finding Uther would have been their first objective. He might already be dead. “We need to get on top of the castle.” The castle was at the center of the storm, that could not have been a coincidence. Whatever they were planning, this was the stage for it.

               “The castle doors are locked,” someone pointed out helpfully. “We haven’t been able to get in.”

               Arthur cocked his head from the soldier back to Merlin questioningly. His slanted eyebrow clearly expressed, _well?_

               Merlin only looks a little bashful when he takes a step forward and half of the soldiers before him tighten their sword-hands. “May I, er, the door?”

               Arthur extends his hand as if he’s welcoming a lord to walk in front of him—which, the Prince realizes belatedly—he is. Merlin is the current Dragonlord. He pales, as if he is relearning this all over again.

                With Arthur's permission Merlin briskly walks past a legion of soldiers who part for him as if he were a leper. A month ago, these same men would have ignored him or hackled him as he walked past. Now many of them eyed him warily, the others watched on with curiousness as if they couldn’t believe what they were seeing. Merlin approached the large, wooden and iron doors the castle and placed his hand against its cold chest. The door was not warded or locked with magic. Why would it be? The witches thought they killed Merlin, or at least had him trapped. Instead, he could feel that the very tangible barricade had been slotted in place. He sought it out with his magic through the door and lifted it easily, moving it to an upright position and the doors popped open without the barricade in place.

                 When Merlin turned around he had an excited smile on his face. He was pleased, and foolishly wanted confirmation from Arthur that he had completed his task to the knight’s satisfaction, but his eyes were still glowing gold.

                 More than one soldier gasped and took a step back, as if they had not believed it until now, and Arthur swallowed a lump in his throat.

                 Their silence is like a slap to the face. Merlin at once feels foolish for hoping that things would be different. He should be thrilled that no one is trying to actively kill him right now, rather than holding his breath for some sort of praise. The Dragonlord schools his face and clears his throat. “The witches are on the roof. It won’t be safe for any of you to go up there with me.”

                 Arthur grimaces and behind him soldiers shuffle their feet and look at one another. They’re not keen on attacking witches, but they certainly won’t be taking orders from a Siderian spy, either. “How do we know you aren’t just going up there to help them?” One brave soul angrily asks from the background.

                 Merlin’s eyes slit dangerously. “They killed my father. I won’t let them have their way.” That’s not the whole truth, but it’s the part these men were most likely to believe. Merlin also wanted to protect Camelot.

                “They could have my father,” Arthur interrupts before anymore arguing could go on. “I’m coming with you,” he said it with finality, leaving no room for protest. The Prince turns to the soldiers behind him. “Evacuate the castle and the citadel. Take every woman and child into the forest for safety, the tree’s might offer some protection, and give every age appropriate male a sword.”  

            Arthur takes a step forward to join Merlin and someone quickly protests, “but sire. We can’t leave you with a known sorcerer.”

            The Prince looks over his shoulder. “Camelot is being attacked with magic. We need his help.” A relative silence filled the air, though the storm could still be heard shaking the atmosphere. “Do as I’ve ordered. Stay vigilante, we don’t know what their next move will be.” He looks back to Merlin, as if to say _lead the way._ The Dragonlord and Prince go one direction, toward the stairs, and groups of knights file into the castle looking for survivors.

            Within minutes they are alone, filing up and up the stairs. Merlin smiles as he looks down at the familiar stone steps.

            “What could you possibly be smiling about?” Arthur grumbles while keeping in step with the other mans longer legs.

            “I never thought I’d be here again,” he admits quietly while looking at the flat stone walls. “Of course, these circumstances are trash, but I still missed it.” When he looks to the side Arthur is watching him.

            “I thought you would have hated it here,” he mutters as they get onto the second floor. It looks mostly intact and it’s deadly silent. The castle was built atop catacombs; Arthur had assumed most of the castle staff and anyone remaining from Horvath’s visiting party would have fled down there when the dragons attacked. It looks like he was right, as they had not yet seen another soul.

            “I didn’t hate it here,” Merlin argued immediately. “OK, at first it was pretty rough,” he amended, “but I don’t think anyone can really hate their purpose.”

            Arthur growled and rounded on him then, boxing Merlin into a wall near the throne room. As best they could tell, the collapsed ceiling of the throne room was the center of the storm. It was also where they were likely to find the three witches and probably Uther. “Stop talking like that,” the Prince snapped.

            “Like what?” Merlin breathed, wide-eyed and up against the wall. For a second it was as if both of them forgot how much more powerful Merlin was than the other man, because the Dragonlord allowed himself to be crowded into the cold stone.

            “Like being ordered around, humiliated, and bullied by me was such an honor.” Walking through these halls it was hard not to remember every petty and hurtful thing he did to the servant boy. “You must have grit your teeth every day, thought me a fool for not realizing who you were…what strength you actually have.” He also remembered how easily Merlin disarmed those three Riders back in Sideria. The Dragonlord could surely do the same to him. It made Arthur feel unworthy and inadequate. “Stop pretending like…like…I deserve—” he shoved Merlin roughly, unable to go on.

            “Arthur,” the sorcerer said softly and took the other man’s wrists into his hand, though Arthur didn’t unwind his fists from Merlin’s robes. “Serving you was always an honor, and I mean that. We can…we can settle the rest later. Right now, we’re running out of time.”

            Before Arthur can respond a loud crash breaks through the air, jarring them both and Arthur springs away from the other man. “What the hell was that,” the Prince asks and places a hand over his new sword.

            “I’m not sure, but I think they know I’m here now.” Merlin takes a step toward the throne room.

            Whatever they were expecting, Arthur was not prepared for the sight they walked into. The entire ceiling to the throne room was missing, only cloudy grey skies hovered above them and all but one wall was missing. Heavy stone blocks were piled up, mostly on one side as if the castle had crumbled at an angle, and atop the peak of the mound of ruble stood the three witches. The Prince felt his heart squeeze at the sight before him. This place was the seat of power for all of Camelot. He grew up idolizing the throne, the crown, and the man that balanced both on his shoulders. There was no sign of the King.

            “Where’s Uther?” Merlin demanded, voice deep as it carried toward the witches who had their heads tipped back, praying toward the unnatural lights above.

             All three of them snapped their heads down, glaring at Merlin. “The King is with us now,” they answered in unison.  

             Before Merlin or Arthur can think to respond, Kilgharrah swoops down from the caravan circling the castle and places himself between the two men and the witches. Apparently, the Great Dragon can withstand the call from the storm, unlike the others.

            Kilgharrah lands with his massive neck bowed back so far that his face is not immediately observable, and his wings are spread wide, curtains big enough for the world.  Merlin expects the Great Dragon to begin talking down to him and Arthur, humiliating them with half-truths and riddles. However, Kilgharrah remains oddly silent as he swings his head forward. There is a hard glint to his eyes that used to shine with fondness and hope—and the slight part to his jaw makes him look like a mad, snarling dog. Merlin figures it out too late.

            “Father!” Arthur shouts with pain heavy in his voice and he tries to lunge forward, but the dragon growls in warning and Arthur is forced to stop or risk more pain to his father.  

            Uther is laying horizontally against the sharp pillars of Kilgharrah’s jaws, but the chainmail and clothing around his arms and legs has been dented, bloodied, and torn as if the dragon had shifted him around several times—playing with him like a tooth pick. The King is bleeding steadily from wounds around his middle and bruises have surfaced all over. Uther moves his throat as if trying to speak and cough’s, sputtering crimson down his chin and staining his own teeth. “Arthur, run,” he warns weakly and when he turns his head Arthur can see that the left side of Uther’s face had been gouged, and his eye is smashed in and useless.

            Arthur staggers as he takes in the battered image of this father. Uther looks like a rag doll and the prince knows that his father’s body is broken. He has internal injuries and he will die, but Kilgharrah cradles him almost gently as if he were savoring the taste.    

            _‘This is my reward for betraying your father, Emrys.’_ Kilgharrah speaks to Merlin telepathically.

            Before he inherited the Dragonlords gift, Merlin had only spoken with Art this way. Having the Great Dragon speak through his thoughts leaves a cold sensation in his being and the sorcerer forces him out.

            _“Release Uther!”_ Merlin orders out loud and feels the power of the Dragonlord bubbling within him, fighting against the ancient dragon’s will.  

            Kilgharrah snarls, his leathery lips quivering over the battered flesh of the King and Uther screams. _‘You will not save him,’_ the dragon promises but Merlin can see that it pains him to deny a call from his Dragonlord. _‘You will not save either of them.’_

            Merlin’s eyes glow an impossible gold that outshines the lighting around them and bellows, _“Release Uther and submit!”_

            Kilgharrah waivers as Merlin shouts in the strange language and Arthur can see the exact moment when the thunderous orders take their effect. He raises his sword, ready to drive it through the Great Dragons heart. He has all but forgotten about the three witches behind Kilgharrah, and the gleeful laughter makes the hair on his neck stand on end before an invisible force throws him down face-first. Arthur struggles, but he is held down securely, and he can’t get his fingers around Excalibur.

            “Brother,” he can’t see Morgana as Kilgharrah’s massive body blocks out his sight, but he can hear the insane lit to her voice. It’s loud and jarring, even over the storm and circling dragons as she approaches. Another lighting strike cracks down, scathing and hot near his face. “It’s so nice of you to join us. We nearly have a proper family reunion.”

            Nearby, Merlin has also been thrown down. Above his body stands Morgause and Nimueh, as it takes them both to force Emrys to his belly. “You are supposed to be dead,” Nimueh sneers angrily and digs her bare foot into Merlin’s back.

            “Sorry to disappoint,” the sorcerer grunts and focuses his magic to work at unwinding the spell holding him down. They must know that this bind won’t last, they maybe have two minutes—unfortunately that might be enough time.

            “Maybe it’s better that you get a front row seat to your own failures,” Morgause returns icily as she turns her cold gaze towards Merlin. She has Balinor’s dragon-breath sword on her hip and it makes him furious to see it.

             Nearby Morgana is crouching over Arthur, whispering hateful things into his ear. “…you should have heard the way he wailed when Kilgharrah smashed his eyeball. I could hear the bones in his face break, shattering like egg shells…”

             Merlin struggles more, trying to break free—tries to get to Arthur but the witches just laugh. “What do you think of our storm,” Morgause asks haughtily.

             “You’re trying to control the dragons, so I can’t use my father’s power,” he accuses while still watching Morgana torture Arthur. He can see the agony over the other man’s face and he realizes that Arthur fell in sight of Kilgharrah, who still held Uther in his jaws like a dog that refused to drop its favorite bone.

             “Wrong,” Nimueh sing-songs. “Though it’s a nice side-effect. They’re drawn to the lights of Avalon.”

              Merlin snaps his head away from Arthur to stare up at Nimueh. They had opened a door to Avalon over Camelot. “What were you thinking,” he shouted frantically. Opening the door to Avalon could destroy this place; the worlds were not meant to converge here, and the power was sure to be immense, unstable. The dragons were drawn to it because Avalon is the birthplace of magic; it is their true home.

             “You’ll see soon enough,” Nimueh returned shortly. She was much too pragmatic to waste time to explain her plan to them. She ordered, “ _uspon,”_ and both Merlin and Arthur were spun around and lifted to their feet. Their limp bodies dangled in the air, only the tips of their toes dragged against the stone floor until they were held near the edge of the crumbling castle. “Look at that formidable army,” Nimueh sneers disapprovingly.  

             Camelot had been prepared for war before Kilgharrah attacked, as they were waiting for word to join the battle in Sideria. Uther had called in all his banner men, every knight, every squire. It looked as if the knights followed Arthur’s orders. Civilians were running into the fields that separated the castle from the surrounding forests and several age-appropriate boys and men stood with some form of a weapon in his hand, gaping up at the castle as if it were haunted.

            “My men will defeat you,” Arthur grunts and thrashes against the enchantment that holds him motionless.

            Ignoring him entirely Nimueh tsks. “We’ll have to do something about that, ladies.” She extended her arms to either side and Morgause and Morgana clasp their hands in hers. When all three witches are linked up a pillar of light strikes them. Morgause and Morgana jerk their faces upward, swallowing light by their open mouths and their eyes turned white.

            Merlin feels an unsteady energy swirling around the three witches. Morgause and Morgana stood on either side of the older witch, but they were nearly vibrating. Their magic was blurring, running over one another like water over paint. He hasn’t figured out their plan, yet. If they had not called the storm from Avalon to control the dragons, what else would they need so much power for?

           “Uther,” Nimueh whips her neck around without breaking her hold on Morgana and Morgause at her sides. “How many sorcerers do you think you have murdered over the course of twenty-five years?” She asks, and Merlin’s eyes widen as he realizes what they intend to do. “You carted so many here just to die. Hundreds? Maybe a thousand? Certainly, there have been enough for an army.”  

            The King is nearly dead as his head rolls on his broken neck and blood drips down Kilgharrah’s bottom jaw. Uther gargles something, it’s intelligible.

             “Keep the fool alive, I want him to see what he has sown,” Nimueh hisses angrily at the dragon and Kilgharrah huffs in response.

             Arthur thrashes mid-air, “let him go! You’ve got your revenge—take me instead,” he offers frantically. He is now facing away from his father, as Kilgharrah stands behind Merlin and Arthur, but the prince can hear the pitiful noises coming from the King, and smell the nauseating stench of blood rotting in the dragon’s teeth.

             “You’re right about that, little Pendragon,” Nimueh croons. “We have our revenge, but none of you will be surviving this night.” The light pouring down from Avalon ceased, but in its wake Morgana and Morgause were left with all white eyes as if they were blind. They turned their heads to look at Merlin and Arthur as Nimueh continued with her threats. “You will face all those that you have killed, and all those you allowed to die, and they will take back the land for us who walk with magic.” The same whiteness began to steadily bleed into Nimueh’s eyes, as if she was pulling it from the other two.

              “You haven’t the power,” Merlin tries to reason with the mad witch. He had known for many years that Nimueh was using dark magic, and Morgause followed in her footsteps. Dark magic was not necessarily more powerful; though, it was volatile and came at a high price.

               “The Triple Goddess will do as she pleases,” Nimueh snaps as the last of the color is drained from her eyes—but something goes wrong. The light does not stop with her eyes, but it spreads until it is flooding from her mouth and ears and through her nose, and then the same happens to Morgana and Morgause.

              “What’s happening,” Arthur shouts over the rising winds.

               Merlin feels the atmosphere splinter as they are released from their binds. Arthur lands on his feet and quickly scoops up Excalibur, which fell to the side. “Something bad,” he answers and takes a step away from the three witches. The earth is restless, and angry. He should try to stop them—but instead he grabs Arthur and hauls him away before the cylinder of light pierces the sky and engulfs the three witches.

               “Get back,” Merlin warns without answering and shoves at the prince, driving him away from the lights of Avalon. He isn’t sure what would happen to them if they touched it; probably burn up or go mad. “We have to get off this roof,” Merlin warns but they are again cornered by Kilgharrah.

               The dragon stands in their way, patient but foreboding, and rolls his tongue over Uther’s crippled body. He glares at Arthur as if to challenge him and the Prince lunges before Merlin can stop it.

                Merlin doesn’t think as he sees Kilgharrah raise a massive clawed arm to crush Arthur. “ _Avfall!”_ He shouted it once and Kilgharrah’s legs buckled. “ _Avfall_ _! Avfall! Avfall!”_ He shouted it again and again until the dragon sunk into the stone, his neck crashing into the ground as Arthur swung Excalibur. Kilgharrah looks Merlin in the eyes with calm resignation—as if it was all worth it in the end, refusing to release Uther even if it means his own life—and Arthur’s blade is christened on Kilgharrah’s blood, severing scale and muscle and bone.

                The dragon’s jaws lolled, and Uther dropped, sopping and torn, onto the ground. “Father,” Arthur’s voice snagged pitifully as he went to his knees and tried to drag Uther’s head into his lap.

                Merlin looked away, unwilling to intrude and unable not to think of Balinor. Instead he looks toward the pillar of light raining down from the storm brought from Avalon. He can’t see the three witches through the light, but he can feel them. Their magic is burning, wild, and writhing. It’s changing shape, unrecognizable to him now as they become something different.

                The Prince runs a shaking hand over his father’s swollen face and jerks up at Merlin, “can you? Anything? Can you save him?” He’s as desperate to save his father as Uther was desperate to create a child all those years ago.

                 Merlin’s chin quivers as he goes to them, kneeling next to the Prince. He does not have the power to stop death. If he had, he would have saved Balinor. “I can lessen the pain…I’m sorry.” He’s choking on his words while looking from Uther to his son.

                 “Please,” Arthur nods toward the fallen King who’s one good eye is milky but alert with fear and agony.

                 Merlin sniffs and raises his hand, hovering next to Arthur's that is cupping Uther’s split cheek. _“Lettelse,”_ the sorcerer’s words are slurred through lips tacky with tears and Arthur can feel the heat of the spell radiating off Merlin’s hands. A soft blue light blooms and Uther inhales raggedly, his one eye focusing on his son.

                “Morgana, I’m sorry—tell her,” the King gasps and paws at Arthur's arm weakly, unable to grip with broken, blood-slick fingers.

                 Arthur puts his hand over his fathers on his arm and tries to say something, but sadness closes his throat painfully. Instead, tears burn his eyes and he shakes his head.

                 “I’m sorry,” Uther repeats and he looks fearful. He knows he’s dying.

                 “Shh,” Arthur feels helpless as he watches his father’s last moments. “It’s ok, it’s alright. I’ll tell her.”

                 “Good, that’s good.” Uther settles, and an odd peace finds him. It may be from the pain, or maybe from the relief that Merlin’s magic provided. He sighs; his last breath is shallow and weak, and he dies in Arthur’s lap.

                  Behind them the air starts to crackle, and more lighting fills the atmosphere. Merlin feels ill, like a lead ball is forming in his stomach and he realizes it’s his most basic instincts, rooted in magic, telling him to run. “Arthur, Arthur,” he stirs backwards, sliding his legs underneath him. “We have to go, now, I’m sorry, we have to go.” He pulls on the other man once and thankfully Arthur goes willingly. 

                 “Pendragon’s and Dragonlords will reap what you sow!” A single, vibrating voice cries through the storm as the light expands and then collapses at once, revealing one figure. She is tall, easily over six feet, and possesses three sets of arms. Her face is a bizarre combination of Morgana, Nimueh, and Morgause, with long, wild black hair, and in one arm she holds Balinor’s sword. “Face the souls you sentenced to death with fire and with apathy!” Her voice was as unnatural as the rest of her and lighting came down from Avalon, striking the dragon’s breath sword.

                 “They’ve invoked the Triple Goddess,” Merlin says more to himself than Arthur, as the knight has no clue what he’s talking about. Individually, none of them would have been strong enough to channel the power from Avalon…but like this, like this they would be godlike.

                 The Triple Goddess waves the sword over the land and calls to the rain-soaked soil, “ _felhívás halott, csont földön. Olajfolt vér volt élet. Vér elfogadók utálom. Visszanyer ezen földön_ _!”_ When she is done chanting, her all white eyes find Merlin. “You will face the dead, Emrys. Every magic-born soul that has perished in Camelot is restless and angry, every man, woman, and child."  
  
                 “Mordred,” Merlin looks to Arthur and feels cold. The Triple Goddess roars in laughter.  
  
  
  
  
                                                                                                                   XiiX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> QUICK TRANSLATIONS: I’m no pro, I used translating websites and used a few languages for spell work and for the Dragons Language, which would naturally be two different dialects and then edited them to make it sound more foreboding? I feel like the dragons’ language would be less about literal translation and more about the intent/emotion behind it, since it’s spoken sort of instinctually by Dragonlords.
> 
> 1\. felhívás halott, csont földön. Olajfolt vér volt élet. Vér elfogadók utálom. Visszanyer ezen földön  
> I call to the dead, ash, and bone of this place. Rise with hate for the ones that took life from the innocent. Clean blood with blood and take back this land. 
> 
> 2\. Lettelse ---Sooth  
> 3\. Avfall ----Waste  
> 4\. Upson ----Rise
> 
>  
> 
> I suspect the next chapter will take me a while. I've never written a big battle scene before. Obviously, I prefer writing intimate dialogue and building relationships...but this calls for a badass action sequence so Ima try. Thanks for the support guys and happy holidays!


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